The Better Solution
by Mother of Tears
Summary: According to the new Ministry Marriage Law, Hermione has to marry a pueblood wizard right away. That would mean leaving school. Suicide seems the only way out...until she is offered a better solution.
1. Default Chapter

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. 

The Marriage Law is the brainchild of WIKTT.

_Author's Note: A while back, I came across a miserable little one chapter Marriage Law fic entitled, I believe, "The Only Solution," in which Hermione kills herself. I have not been able to find that story again, so I do not know the identity of the author and I'm not sure even of the title, but it inspired this little story. I don't like dark fics, character torture, or tragedies. Life is sad enough. The reason I peruse Hermione/Snape web sites is to enjoy the pairings, not to read stories where the characters die before being paired. So this is my offering, for what it is worth. Please be kind. And to whoever wrote that original story...This fic's for you! _

**THE BETTER SOLUTION**

He couldn't remember when it had originally happened, the exact month, week, or day. It had crept up on him gradually like the appearance of evening shadows at the coming of dusk, shadows that moved so slowly as to be almost unnoticeable...almost, until the moment one discovers that it has suddenly become quite dark. He didn't really notice that his feelings and perceptions were changing until one day he realized that the brainy little chit, who had annoyed him for the last few years, was beginning to annoy him in a completely different way.

He found that he liked her. Odd, that. He found himself taking far more interest in her work than he ever had before, more interest in her work than anyone else's. She was an exceptional student, probably the best he had ever taught. She mastered every concept, every technique, with ease and confidence, and worked conscientiously at every task she was given. She was quick to understand the "why" as well as the "how" in what she did, which was essential to the true mastery of potion making. Any wizard who put their mind to it could memorize the steps to make a potion. But to understand what made it work, to perhaps have insight into it's possible modifications...that was genius. And that was the brilliance he saw in Hermione Granger.

And he was beginning to see more than just brilliance. He was finding her attractive...beautiful, in fact. He found himself watching her in class, in the Great Hall, and any place the two of them were likely to be. He found that he was always acutely aware of where she was in proximity to himself, a new awareness that suddenly seemed terribly essential to him. By the time he had realized what had happened it was too late to stop it. Once begun, it could never be undone. To his horror, Severus Snape realized he was in love.

Snape didn't view this revelation with any joy, but with something akin to despair. Not only had he fallen in love with a student, he had fallen for an underage student. That alone branded him a pervert in his own eyes and emphasized the acute hopelessness of his situation. He could never pursue a relationship with a student and he knew, with a certainty, that there wasn't the slightest chance of the object of his affections ever returning them.

Miss Granger would never, _ever,_ be attracted to him. There were too many reasons why not and he knew them all too well. Aside from the fact that he was at least twenty years older than her and seriously homely, he had gone out of his way to snub her for years. She had always been the constant companion of Potter and Weasley, and that, in and of itself, had been enough to embitter him to her. The fact that she quickly turned out to be the best point-earner Gryffindor ever had made him go out of his way to show her no mercy whatsoever. He regretted that now.

It wasn't that he thought she hated him. Miss Granger didn't seem to be the hating sort. She had an actively kind disposition, as well as a righteous one. It was one of the things he found so beautiful in her. But he had a very strong feeling that should Miss Granger even have an inkling that he harbored any tenderness for her, she would pity him. That thought was enough to make his gut writhe as though battling the Cruciatus Curse. She must never find out. He would have to continue to hide his feelings carefully behind a mask of sarcastic cruelty. He would have to go on treating her as he always had--snubbing her, ignoring her, scowling or sneering whenever he saw her. It pained him to have to do that, but it was the only way. It was better, after all, to be hated than pitied.

But he observed her secretly. He watched her smiling and conversing with her friends. He watched her hold her head high with dignity when taunted by other students, usually Slytherins. He watched her pour over her work, serious eyes scanning book and parchment, absently biting her lower lip in concentration.

She was strong, capable, and brilliant, yet curiously vulnerable. He sensed an aloneness to her similar to that of himself. She hid behind her studiousness and her high achievement. Something drove her relentlessly to academic perfection. Was it similar to what had always driven him? The more he pondered that, the more he didn't think so. Hermione Granger came from a background of love. He sensed no horrors in her past, no childhood trauma such as that which festered in his own. The recent loss of her parents had left her somewhat quieter, but that was all.

She was still poised, still confident academically to the point of exhibition. But he sensed she was shy socially, a secret shyness that she disguised behind her glittering school achievements. Was she shy with men, perhaps? Although she seemed to have far more male friends than female friends (she was always with Potter and Weasley, for instance,) they were obviously only just friends. He had noticed Weasley looking at her more than once with desire but she never even seemed to see it. Snape hadn't noticed Miss Granger looking at other women with anything suggestive either, so he didn't believe there was any lack of natural inclination. She was, he mused, simply unawakened, a complete innocent.

What would she think if she knew that he wanted her, and how he wanted her? Weasley, her so far unnoticed suitor, was as innocent as she was. Severus Snape wasn't. There wasn't a reasonable sex act he hadn't assiduously practiced. And he had practiced quite a few unreasonable ones as well. He knew exactly how he wanted to please, and take his pleasure with, his innocent all-star student...if she would let him. But that would never happen. No, she would surely end up in the bed of that red headed oaf, not his. It was probably just as well, he thought. He, Snape, could hardly be considered a good match for her.


	2. A Bad Law's First Victim

These characters belong to J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. 

The Marriage Law is the creation of WIKKT 

**Chapter 2 _A Bad Law's First Victim_**

When word passed back and forth about the proposal of a law requiring witches of less than pure magical ancestry to be married to pureblood wizards, Severus didn't take it seriously. Nobody in their right mind would pass a law like that! Forcing people to marry? Punishing them with banishment if they did not? Singling out one group for greater persecution? The Ministry of Magic would surely never be that stupid! 

Therefore, he was astonished when they did pass it, his reaction one of incredulous outrage. What were these idiots thinking? Voldemort was not even dead a year and the Wizard World was again in peril, this time from a danger of their own making. This new law made a travesty of justice--curtailing freedoms, solidifying social classes, making discrimination and enslavement legal. It was a step of cultural regression. Severus cherished his world and his place within it. Now, he felt certain that he was hearing the faint beginning rumble of it's death knell, the foretelling of it's dissolution into chaos and anarchy. Any society that regressed from freedom to slavery was doomed. It never occurred to him that Miss Granger would be one of it's first victims. 

At breakfast, the topic of conversation at the Head Table turned out to be the passing of the Marriage Law. There was much head shaking, tsking, and finger wagging about the absurdity and the injustice of it all. And there was hushed speculation concerning the fate of a Miss Hermione Jane Granger who, it seemed, was over eighteen years of age due to the unbridled use of a Time Turner in her third year. A Time Turner! What idiot put one of those into the hands of a student? Snape could have hexed the Gryffindor Head of House into the freezing heart of Antarctica for that blunder. 

Severus looked for Miss Granger as the students filed in for breakfast. When he saw her, he couldn't help but notice an uncharacteristic droop to her step. She moved woodenly amid her relatively carefree friends, a scroll held in her left hand, her wand in her right. At one point, she looked up at the Head Table and her gaze met his. He regarded her gravely for a second before the automatic camouflage sneer hid his face. She turned away. So she had already received a scroll. That meant that someone had already petitioned the Ministry for her, perhaps more than one. 

Damn it, he thought. What a waste of talent. To see her sold off to some blithering idiot for breeding purposes before she could even finish her education! For this to happen to any student was criminal. For it to happen to this particular student was sickening. By the look on her face, he could tell she was horrified, crushed. For someone with her ambition and hunger for knowledge, her voracious mind, this would be the end of the world. 

She stared ahead of her, not touching her food, her friends oblivious to the pain she was in. Snape could have pleasurably hexed them into the Deep Freeze as well, and the Headmaster along with them! From the conversation floating around him at the Head Table, he could tell that the old fool actually favored this law. What a stupid, senile, old bastard-- sentimental over marriage and babies even if the mothers of those babies were taken against their will! The Wizarding World was definitely heading to Hell at rocket speed if Albus Dumbledore approved of an insane law like this! 

A movement from the Gryffindor table brought his attention back to Miss Granger. She stood up, wand in hand, and advanced toward the Head Table. She stopped in front of the beaming curious Headmaster and placed her scroll deliberately on the table in front of him. She carefully pointed her wand at herself, tip touching the base of her throat, and pronounced, "Avada Kedavra!" 

There was a brilliant green flash and Miss Granger crumpled to the floor, wand rolling away from her limp hand. The Great Hall erupted into instant confusion. Students screamed. Glassware crashed. People moved about frantically like ants in a stepped on hill. Few but Snape had paid much attention to Miss Granger's movements so most of the students had no idea what had happened. Students pushed and shoved one another trying to get closer to the scene, even if it meant clamoring over their fellows to get a better look. Others tried to flee, but many of them simply blundered about in terror thinking that the Hall was under attack of some kind. 

The mess at the Head Table was just as bad. Teachers milled about each other, rushing to the unconscious student and then holding back when they reached her, uncertain of what to do. Dumbledore was just standing in front of her at his place at the Head Table, just standing in shock, a dawning of guilt and self recrimination in his mild blue eyes. 

Severus pushed his way savagely past the other teachers. "Get back! Move away, all of you!" He snarled. They made room for him and he knelt to the prone figure on the floor, fingers feeling for a pulse. He knew it would be there. 

"Is she...dead, Severus?" Whispered a stunned and horrified McGonagall. 

"No, of course not! The Avada Kedavra doesn't work on oneself! You should know that!" Snape looked accusingly from her to the Headmaster. "But she'll find a better way next time! I hope you're satisfied!" He fumed in earshot only of the teachers around him. "Brilliant, capable young witches withheld from any decent career! Killing themselves rather than facing that! I wonder how many others will try this!" He picked up Hermione's limp form and strode toward the door. "Out of my way!" He ordered, and the confused crowd parted from him, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall following in his wake. 

At the hospital wing, Severus marched commandingly through the wards and into a private room where he laid Miss Granger carefully on a hospital bed and turned to Madam Pomfrey. "She will wake in a few minutes. I take it there is chocolate in the room?" The witch nurse nodded. "Leave her to me. I will stay with her until she awakens." Madam Pomfrey nodded and left. McGonagall didn't move. 

"As Head of her house, Severus, I should be the one to stay with her." Said Professor McGonagall reprovingly. 

"With all due respect, Minerva, that is precisely why it should be me in here with her when she awakens, not you. You can't say to her the things she needs to hear. She doesn't need coddling at this point. She needs a good jolt of common sense and reason!" 

"I'm perfectly capable of that!" She countered with asperity. 

"Not this time." 

"Why ever not?" Stormed the enraged older witch. 

"Your guilt for one thing!" He retorted. Professor McGonagall's mouth opened in protest but Snape didn't give her time to draw breath. "You're the one who gave her that stupid Time Turner three years ago and that's the reason she has aged ahead of her class to where that insane law can turn her into a baby machine before she's even graduated!" 

"Damn you, Severus!" Whispered Minerva bitterly. "You know no one had any idea that this would be the result!" 

"Of course you had no idea! Don't be absurd! But it still was a stupid thing to do, and you do follow my reasoning?" 

"Severus, she needs kindness, not a lecture, and certainly not punishment! That would be nothing but cruelty! She's been through a terrible time, not only from this, but from the loss of her parents as well!" 

Snape sighed. "I do understand, Minerva. I'm not a monster, after all!" Then he continued more quietly, "But you must realize this. The next time she attempts suicide she will be successful. The only reason she used the Avada Kedavra was it's exhibition factor. She wanted to make a statement and she has done so. The next time she will use poison, or a blade, and it will be in private." McGonagall hesitated, her expression pained. "I'm not going to eat her!" He said sardonically. Not today at least,the Potion's master thought to himself. He would savor that pleasure at another time... 

"Just...just don't be too hard on her." Pleaded Minerva weakly. "What will you say to her?" 

"Whatever I have to to keep her alive." Snape said decisively, his black eyes inscrutable. "Now leave her to me, please." McGonagall nodded sadly and left. Severus sat down next to Hermione's hospital bed and waited. 


	3. Snape's Solution

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. 

**Chapter 3: _Snape's Solution_**

Hermione floated back to consciousness to find herself in the infirmary. It took a moment to recognize where she was, and when she did, she shuddered. "Oh, no! It didn't work! I'm still alive!" she whispered. 

"Yes, Miss Granger," drawled a soft, deep velvet voice, "your ability to see the obvious is astounding." 

Hermione shut her eyes in horror. Professor Snape! Of all the people to find herself with, why did it have to be him? Now he would tell her how stupid she was, how useless she was, how she couldn't even manage a simple curse. Or perhaps he would berate her for being disloyal to the Wizarding World by trying to escape her duty! Tears stung her closed eyes. 

"Why couldn't you just let me die?" she choked bitterly. "Why did you have to save me?" 

"We didn't, actually," was his dry reply. "It seems you were unaware that the Avada Kedavra curse is ineffective when used on oneself. You can't curse yourself to death, Miss Granger, any more than you can suffocate yourself by holding your breath. The instinct for self preservation always prevails." 

Hermione looked over at him in sudden surprise and a little shame. She should have thought of that! Now it was only one more thing for him to sneer at her about. _But not for long,_ was her next very grim thought. "There are other ways," she whispered, "poison, for one." 

Snape's reaction was swift and terrifying. He rose quickly, fluidly from his seat and loomed over her bed, looking down at her with fury radiating from every inch of him. "DO NOT, Miss Granger, do anything so incredibly STUPID!" he hissed menacingly, angry black eyes flashing danger. Hermione froze. 

"Sit up!" he ordered, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to obey him. "You're a Gryffindor, for pity's sake. Where's your courage? And don't tell me it takes bravery to kill yourself, because it doesn't! Any bloody coward can commit suicide! It takes real nerve to face life, which I suggest that you do! You do have other options. I suggest you explore them!" 

"What options?" Hermione cried out at him, miserable tears rolling down her face. "There aren't any options for me! My life is over! I have to leave school and marry some wizard I don't even know, who only wants to make me pregnant! I have to have baby after baby until I just wear out! I wanted to achieve so much in life, but now I'm just breeding stock, somebody's brood mare. Death is the only solution!" 

"Death solves nothing," Snape said quietly. "It is no solution at all." 

Hermione ignored him. "No wonder you always sneered at me, Professor," she continued with bitterness, "no matter how hard I worked. You always knew I would never amount to anything. I'm a Muggleborn and I am female. In the Wizard World, that means I am nothing! I have no rights at all. I might as well die!" 

"What rubbish!" he spat contemptuously, the sharpness of his voice startling her out of her self pity. "If I sneered at you, Miss Granger, it was most probably due to extreme irritation from your know-it-all attitude--not to mention the all the points you were continually winning for Griffindor! If I sneer at you now, it is because of your appalling lack of sense! Not because of your ancestry, and certainly not because you are female! You have, of course, noticed the high proportion of faculty members here who are women? You are aware of the number of female members of the Ministry Counsel and the Wizengamot? Surely you realize that it is possible for a witch to advance in the arts of magic? I would have assumed that someone of your intellectual promise would be able to see that!" 

"There's no promise for me," mourned Hermione in a whisper. "Not anymore. I can't even graduate." 

"Yes you can. You can still graduate Hogwarts, Miss Granger," Snape said quietly. 

"How?" she scoffed. 

"All you need do is marry a member of the staff here at this school, and you will be able to finish your education." 

Hermione looked at him puzzled. "What member?" she asked. 

"Me," he said flatly. Her jaw dropped in shock, and Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm perfectly aware that I'm not the most desirable match!" His words shook with sarcasm. "I'm twenty years your senior, ugly as sin, and nastier than I look! But... if you do accept me as your husband, you will be able to finish your education. Not only will I allow it, I will insist upon it! I will see to it that not only will you sit for your N.E.W.T.s and graduate Hogwarts, but you will also have the opportunity to attend university. As all the major institutions are linked by floo network, all you will have to do is commute." 

Hermione stared at him for a moment, barely comprehending. Graduate? University? Could that really still be possible? But... marry Snape? She regarded her teacher's hard, homely face and her gut contracted in horror. She sank back down on the hospital bed, face averted, dead eyes contemplating the nearest wall. No. She couldn't do that. Poison would be better. 

"Look at me!" Snape hissed sharply, coming closer to her, raising her up again, and turning her head to make her look at him. "_They will repeal this law!" _he said slowly, his face only inches from hers, his fingers holding her chin, black eyes locked on hers. "It WILL happen! This law passed on only the narrowest of margins and even now there is work toward forcing it's repeal. When that day comes, Miss Granger, it will be to your distinct advantage to be _alive! _Do you understand?" He raised his eyebrows for emphasis. She nodded. His basilisk eyes held hers seriously for a moment before he released her and moved away, giving her room to breathe again. 

"You are a highly intelligent, brilliantly capable young witch," he continued angrily. "I didn't spend the last six years educating you for you to face a dead-end career of perpetual motherhood, or to waste yourself with poison! Which brings me to my next point." Hermione looked at him in dazed expectation, hardly knowing what would come next. 

"I don't give a damn about my bloodline. I have no real desire to father large amounts of children, or small amounts either, for that matter. Oh, you'll still have to sleep with me, miss Granger! There's no way out of that!" His mouth curled in an ironic smirk. "However, there is no reason to assume that pregnancy will have to be the result." 

"But the law says..." 

"I am well aware of what that stupid law says, Miss Granger! Don't interrupt! I've read it over several times! While the wards that would be placed on us would render all magical forms of contraception ineffective, they will have no effect whatsoever on _Muggle_ birth control. It is my understanding that there are quite a few forms of Muggle contraception that are very simple and very effective. Surely, between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something suitable." 

Hermione looked stunned. She had never considered that. She nodded numbly. 

"Think about it, Miss Granger," he said, rising again from his chair and handing her a hunk of chocolate. "I don't require an answer today. But, keep in mind. Odious as the idea of marrying me may be to you, it is to your advantage. I will, again, reiterate those advantages to you. Advantage one: you will have a husband who will value you more for your brain than your womb. You will be able to finish your studies here at Hogwarts and you will have my assistance in pursuing higher education afterwards. Advantage two: you will not have to bear children unless you want to. Advantage three: you will be alive when the Marriage Law is repealed, as it surely must be." 

"You don't _ever_ want children, Professor?" Hermione broke in, curiosity overcoming shock. 

Snape made an impatient, dismissive gesture. "After teaching them for the last fifteen years, I have lost any desire I might have once had for fatherhood! Oh, I suppose that after a few years of married life, you might be able to talk me into one...maybe," he admitted. "But I certainly won't be pressuring you into it." He moved toward the door. "Consider it, Miss Granger." 

"Yes," she said suddenly. "Yes. I'll do it." She gulped. "I'll marry you." 

"Good," he replied quietly, turning to look at her with an unreadable gaze. "I'll draw up the papers immediately." He reached for the door handle. 

"Professor Snape," she said impulsively. He paused. "There's something I don't understand. You've told me all these advantages I'll get from marrying you. What do you get?" 

Snape looked at her, expression inscrutable, velvet voice hushed with irony. "That should be obvious, Miss Granger. I get you." 

Severus closed the door to Hermione's sickroom and made his way back through the infirmary, trying not to strut too much as he walked. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, thankfully, but McGonagall would be waiting for him, probably outside the Hospital Wing. He couldn't blame her, of course. His future wife was still her responsibility. 

"Severus!" came her expected agitated voice in the infirmary hall. "How is Miss Granger?" 

He sighed. He would have to tell her eventually, and now was as good a time as any, but he didn't relish his stern fellow teacher's reaction. "She is awake. She is fine. And she will live, I think," he answered shortly. 

"Really? How do you know that? What did you say to her?" 

"I offered her a better solution than killing herself." 

"What solution?" asked McGonagall, mystified. 

"I proposed marriage and she accepted. I told her I would guarantee her a chance to finish her education here and take her N.E.W.T.s. I also promised to send her to university afterwards." There. It was said. 

McGonagall stared at him for a minute, utterly stunned and Snape stared back at her as if daring her to criticize him, daring her to lash out at him for taking her all-star pupil. But she didn't. She just said, "Oh...yes...well, that would definitely work, Severus...and she said yes?" Snape nodded. 

"I did explain to her the very great likelihood of it's being a temporary situation." He looked disgustedly at McGonagall. "They have to repeal this law! It's only a matter of time, a year or two perhaps. I cannot believe she will be the only suicide attempt. I can also envision a long line of unscrupulous wizards, all gleefully signing up to each get their hands on their own little legal rape victims! This law is a travesty and the Ministry will have to repeal it. And when that happens, Hermione will be free of it, and free of me too if she wishes." 

The sudden bitterness in his voice caused Minerva to look at him with a sharp, shrewd expression on her face. "You care for her, don't you, Severus?" she said quietly. 

"Breathe a word of that, Minerva, and you will die a most painful death!" 

McGonagall pursed her lips acerbically. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Severus, but does Hermione know how you feel?" Snape stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Well you should at least tell _her! _If she's going to be your wife she needs to know it! Women do appreciate the knowledge that their spouse loves them!" 

"Why? So that she can laugh at me?" he retorted, then considered as he held up a restraining hand to silence his sputtering colleague. "No. I will take that back. Miss Granger wouldn't laugh. She'd pity me." 

"She would not! You don't do Hermione Granger enough credit, or yourself either! At least if she knew, it would go a long way toward making the situation at least somewhat pleasant for her." 

Snape eyed her sardonically. "Don't worry. I'll see to it that there will be at least one aspect of married life that she will find quite pleasant..." 

"There's more to marriage than the bedroom, Severus," admonished Professor McGonagall. "As someone whose been married, I can tell you that with impunity! Not that it isn't important, mind you..." she paused at the sight of the smirk on his face. "Just be gentle with her! She's as innocent as a lamb and you haven't been innocent in years. Right now, you remind me of a wolf!" 

Snape rolled his eyes. "And you remind me of a mother hen; clucking, and pecking, and scratching in the sand. I'll treat her well enough!" 

Minerva looked at him darkly. "You'd better. I'll get you if you don't!" She turned on her heel and strode down the hall, leaving a bemused Potion's master behind her. 

Snape headed in the direction of Dumbledore's office, still trying to absorb, to come to grips with, the enormity of what he had just done. It was incredible! He had actually proposed marriage to Miss Granger, and had somehow cajoled, browbeaten, and otherwise wheedled her into actually accepting him. He allowed himself a little glow of triumph. That accomplishment was none other than an act of pure, unadulterated Slytherin brilliance on his part. He had held out just the right carrots in front of her hungry nose and had presented them with precisely the amount of artful force that she couldn't help but rise to the bait, her sad situation, and desperation of suicide becoming the sticks that goaded her to him. 

There would be no poison in her immediate future now. He had given her a reason to live. Hermione Granger wasn't the sort of person to fall into complete despair easily. She was a fighter by nature, and incredibly resourceful. He knew that only the acute absence of any positive options would have driven her to end her life, yet even at the point of extremity, she had still had enough of a desire to live to keep from sliding into the abyss. 

Snape hadn't been completely truthful with her when he had told her that the Avada Kedavra curse didn't work on oneself. There had been a few cases of wizards cursing themselves to death. But he had known instinctively that Hermione's will to live had been too strong for her to kill herself that way. And now he had seen to it that she wouldn't try any other way either. 

Snape felt the ghostly touch of a pang as he considered this. True, he had saved her life, or at least bought her time, but he had also played very dirty in doing so. He was in the position of having his cake and eating it too. He cared for her, loved her. He would have done just about anything to keep her alive, and he wanted her desperately, but he knew she felt nothing but revulsion for him. Under normal circumstances, he was probably the last man she would have ever considered. Hagrid would have stood a better chance than him. 

And he had known this. There had been nothing purely altruistic in his better solution for her. He had used her plight to get her for himself, to make her his, to satisfy his passion for her--and he intended to enjoy her to the utmost. Slytherin as always, he had made the most of his opportunities. He had become both hero and villain at the same time. 

He sighed as he put his hand to Dumbledore's office door. Hero and villain, since when had it ever been any different? 

Hermione finished her hunk of chocolate and sank back down on the hospital bed. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly; the Marriage Law which cut off her freedom and reduced her to the status of furniture, the betrothal scrolls, her sudden, cold flash of deadly determination, and her waking up here in this hospital room. After that had come the appearance of Professor Snape with his stinging blast of rebuking sarcasm, followed by his proposal of marriage. And she had accepted him. 

She stared at the wall. She was going to stay at Hogwarts. She didn't have to leave her friends or give up her dreams of achievement. But she was going to have to marry Severus Snape in order to have this. When he had outlined all the reasons for her to marry him instead of killing herself, it had seemed reasonable and logical, no matter how much her soul cringed at the idea. It still seemed logical even in spite of it's being unthinkable. She didn't want to think about it. She felt bone weary and a little dazed, as though something very heavy had fallen on her, a series of heavy somethings. 

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall came in presently and she signed the papers that officially betrothed her to Professor Snape. The headmaster looked sad as he wished her happiness and congratulated her. McGonagall fussed over her nervously. She patted hermione's shoulder in a highly uncharacteristic show of affection and assured her in an overly bright voice that she was so happy for her and that everything would work out for the best. Hermione could only shrug numbly. 

Harry and Ron invaded the infirmary after the headmaster and Gryffindor head of house left and Hermione found herself facing the hardest part of all--explaining to her two best friends what she had just done. 


	4. The Price of Betrothal

These characters are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. 

**Chapter 4: _The Price of Betrothal_**

The next few weeks were probably some of the loneliest that Hermione had ever spent. Word of her engagement quickly spread throughout the school and almost immediately people began treating her differently. Some classmates stared at her openly. Others tried to hide it by turning away whenever she looked at them. Whispers and mutters seemed to hush their way sibilantly through any room she had to occupy or pass through.

"She's marrying Snape... Professor Snape...Ugh!...the Greasy old Git...must be mad...do anything to stay in school..."

It wasn't that most people were deliberately unkind or rude, but they didn't seem to know how to talk to her. They kept their distance emotionally, rarely speaking to her, looking at her puzzled, perhaps even frightened. They were wary and confused around her. They regarded her oddly, as though discovering her to be suddenly of a completely different species than they were, someone "Other," not like them at all.

The reactions of Harry and Ron were especially hurtful. Neither of them would have anything at all to do with her. Harry was silently incensed that she was marrying Professor Snape, the one person in the school that he most detested. Ron was bitter because she was marrying someone other than himself. They seemed to feel that she had betrayed them personally. They also were not overtly cruel, but they avoided her as if she had a disease that they would catch if they came near her. They looked at her sideways out of narrowed, uncomfortable, even guilty eyes. Hermione's soul ached in despair.

She did notice a few compassionate glances thrown her way, and the teachers, especially Professor McGonagall, continued to treat her with that overly cheerful condescension that Hermione was sure they all thought was encouraging. But mostly, she felt like she was bruising herself against an invisible stone wall of "Otherness."

Her friends were shying away from her because she was now too different to be one of them anymore. All because she was going to marry Snape. All because of that stupid law. She wanted to grab some of them, shake them, and scream at them, "I'm still the same! I haven't changed! I"m still the same Hermione Granger that you knew!" But she found that she couldn't bring herself to try to bridge the gap. The "Otherness" had gotten under her skin.

Worse than the puzzled, aloof, and detached behavior of her friends was the cruel reaction from her enemies. The Slytherins were having a field day. Laughter, sniggers, and taunts assailed her whenever she ran into one of them. And they were unavoidable.

"Hey Granger," sneered Malfoy. "I hear you're moving up in the world. You're going to be Snape's little whore!" Rounds of malicious laughter would follow remarks like these.

"Well, you know how Granger is," somebody would begin. "She'd do anything to stay in school--no matter what it was!"

"If you ask me, she must be REALLY dedicated to learning if she'd sleep with Snape! Either that or desperate!" More laughter would follow.

"She just wants to be teacher's pet, if you know what I mean!" someone else would say.

Hermione would walk past them, head high, eyes resolutely straight in front of her, inwardly cringing at what they were saying. Perhaps it was true. Maybe she was no better than a whore. All prostitutes did was trade their bodies for something, and it need not be money. She wanted to stay in school. She wanted to sit for the N.E.W.T.s. She wanted more out of life than motherhood and babies.

She wanted to do something important, something important for the world, or perhaps just something that was important to herself. She wanted to use her mind, to keep on learning, to uncover new and exciting secrets. And the only way she could ever do that was by staying at Hogwarts and going on afterwards to University. At present, the only way she could do that was by marrying Snape, and that boiled down to prostitution in it's elemental form.

She was trading her body for an education, _"Snape's little whore."_ Hermione felt sick from the shame of it and desperately lonely. She wished with all her heart that she had a friend to stand up for her like she had once had. But Harry wouldn't look at her. Ron turned away whenever she tried to catch his eye. Ginny looked angry. Parvati and Lavender looked embarrassed.

Day upon day passed in cold, lonely endurance. The wedding date was set for a month after the date that she had signed Snape's marriage contract. Hermione busied herself with practicalities. She took a journey by floo to number twelve Grimmauld Place and, accompanied by Tonks, visited a Muggle doctor's office in London. There she underwent an embarrassing and uncomfortable physical examination and received a prescription for birth control pills. The doctor assured her that, due to the present position of her monthly cycle, she could safely become sexually active in a mere two weeks. She tried to smile at him, but she felt far from reassured.

Professor McGonagall took her to Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions and helped her pick out a wedding gown in sumptuous Gryffindor red. She picked out a nightgown as well. Most women did such things in a state of glorious, anticipatory excitement, but for Hermione, life had all the surreal qualities of a nightmare.

As the wedding date approached nearer and nearer, Hermione's level of dread only increased. How could she go through with it? How could she stand sleeping with Snape? She didn't want to picture it. In bed with nasty, snarky Snape, him touching her, forcing himself on her. _That should be obvious, Miss Granger. I get you_. What he obviously wanted her for was sex. She tried to keep from thinking about it, to put it off as something to consider later, when she absolutely had to. But there were many people who had no intention of letting her do that.

"I almost feel sorry for you, Granger," sneered Pansy Parkinson, while they were trekking back from Care of Magical Creatures class. "having to sleep with Snape, I mean. I hear he's an animal in bed!" Sniggers trailed nastily behind her words. "Not that I would really know... I've never tried seducing him myself! He may be my head of house but I'd just as soon sleep with Weasley than with him. And Weasley, _any _Weasley, is the bottom of the barrel if you ask me!" She winked at a giggling Millicent Bulstrode before adding spitefully, "You'll have to tell us which one of them is the better lover, Granger. The world wants to know!"

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on a spot on the horizon. She could feel her face getting hot. She did her Olympian best to ignore them.

"Actually, I don't think little Granger's ever slept with Ron," said Millicent shrewdly. "I'd bet a sack of galleons she hasn't slept with anyone yet. She's so in love with books she has no time for a boyfriend. Isn't that right?"

Hermione tried to keep a calm, stony expression but a nervous fidget betrayed her.

"You mean you're a virgin?" Pansy Parkinson's face was a study in delighted wondering shock. "Oh, my! That's funny! Oh, ha! ha! He! he!" Tears of laughter shone on her face. "You're a virgin and you're going to marry Snape? Sweet Merlin, what he's going to do to you! You'll be black and blue inside and out!" She laughed so hard she had to hold her sides. "Oh, dear," she said, still laughing as she strode arrogantly away, "If I were you, I'd take poison!"

Hermione continued back to her next class, her face still burning with shame. Harry and Ron had just stood there. They hadn't said anything. No one cared.

_If I were you, I'd take poison. _Hermione had already considered poison once, back when death had been the only solution, but she couldn't do that now. Back then, she had had no hope, she had had no future. Now she did have a future, even if it was a future that unfortunately contained Snape. She couldn't turn her back on it now. She had gotten used to the idea of living, not dying. She would have to move on and somehow try to make the best of it. How she would do that, she didn't know, but there had to be a way.

Severus Snape made his own wedding preparations without benefit of any council. He brushed off any offers of advice or assistance from his fellow staff members and only allowed Dumbledor close enough into his confidence to ask him to be his witness. He also made no attempt to converse with his new intended beyond a quick inquiry as to how she was coming along with her research into Muggle birth control.

He had no idea what he would say to her, and she obviously had no desire, whatsoever, to talk to him. She avoided his eyes whenever they came upon each other, and her body language was stiff. At first, he thought it was disgust that caused that rigid reaction from her, but then he realized that it was fear. She was afraid of him and trying desperately to hide it.

Snape bristled at that notion. Miss Granger hadn't been afraid to try to curse herself to death, so why was she afraid of him? What did she think he was going to do to her? He paused bitterly in his ruminations. What _didn't_ she think he would do? Hermione obviously though what every other student, and possibly everyone else in the Wizarding World thought, that he was a monster.

Perhaps he had been a monster once. He had been raised in a den of them. But he had striven with all the determination he possessed to change into something better. His students wouldn't know that, of course. Snape had gone out of his way to act like a bastard for years. Sternness and nastiness made students fear him, and he had wanted them to fear him. Fear made for better discipline and better safety in the Potion's lab. Besides, dealing with insipid, lazy little brats was extremely irritating...

It was a shame he couldn't reassure or comfort Hermione, but there was no bridge of communication between them yet, and Severus wasn't gifted at building such bridges. He had never been. He had no idea how to tell her that his intentions were toward her were actually kind, and not totally selfish. Besides, he certainly didn't want to let it slip that he loved her. That would set him up for ridicule and give her power over him. But he didn't like the idea that she was afraid of him, that she saw him as a monster.

It suddenly occurred to him that she might be a virgin. That would be an odd thing. Most students from every house practiced amorous experimentation at a young age. Miss Granger had to have had plenty of opportunities to try out her sexual wings. But Hermione had always struck him, now that he considered it, as being peculiarly innocent. If that was the case, no wonder she was apprehensive of him. Snape made a mental note to begin preparations to cover that possibility as soon as possible. He hadn't had a virgin for years, but he certainly knew how to take care of one properly.

Severus was also struck by how alone Miss Granger seemed. True, she had never been a social butterfly, but she had been accepted, if grudgingly, by her peers. Now it seemed that she was being ostracized. He watched her carefully as the days went by and was incensed by the way her fellow students were treating her. Girls who normally smiled and talked to her wouldn't look her in the eye. People walked away from her.

Snape had expected his Slytherins to be nasty. Most of the creatures the Sorting Hat was giving his house were arrogant pureblood cretins. Of course they resented a Muggleborn student that outshone them in everything she did. Severus thought fervently that it was about time some new blood was put into his house. He personally believed that ambition, cunning, subtlety, and determination were good qualities. Too bad that Sorting Hat felt otherwise.

He fumed at the way Harry and Ron were treating his future wife. Snape himself had never had close loyal friends and he had always envied those that did. The close friendship of Potter, Weasley, and Granger had grated on his sensibilities precisely because he envied it. Now that friendship seemed to have crumbled, all because Hermione was engaged to him. They were abandoning her because of him.

Severus burned with acid fury at the unfairness of it and at the pain he knew she was suffering. He didn't have the wherewithal to be able to comfort Miss Granger, but to verbally flay those that were hurting her was familiar ground. Grimly, determinedly, he set out to give them the telling off that they'd remember for the rest of their lives...

"Why did you want to see us...Professor?" growled Harry Potter as he stood with Ron Weasley, eyeing the Potion's master with wary dislike. Snape sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled together, observing the two of them with an expression of cold satisfaction.

"Merely to congratulate you on the showing of your true colors, Potter," said Snape with quiet, gloating malice. "I always knew that one day you would reveal yourselves for what you truly were."

"What are you talking about, Snape?" Potter's face was livid.

"Professor or Sir to you, Potter!"

"Sir!" spat Potter, teeth clenched.

Snape smiled malevolently at him while ignoring Ron as though unworthy of notice. "The celebrated friendship of Potter, Weasly, and Granger," his silky voice oozed sarcasm. "The Terrific Trio, friends forever (partners in crime, I suspect!) always together through thick and through thin... Nauseating rubbish! I always knew that when the chips were down, one or more of you would turn on each other like a pack of rabid wolves!"

He chuckled cruelly. "Couldn't wait to dump Granger, could you? Couldn't wait to cast her aside when she proved to be an embarrassment to you, a liability for you. Never mind that she probably needs the two of you more than ever before... How delicious! I savor every minute of it!"

"We didn't leave her! She left us!" Ron put in stoutly.

"Oh, really," Severus all but purred. "In what way, pray tell?"

"She's marrying you, isn't she?" was Harry's angry retort.

"Out of desperation, of course!" replied Snape, his jeering voice hard. "You don't honestly think she _wants _to marry me, do you? You think she lusts after me, I suppose?" He laughed sneeringly. "I always knew you were stupid, Potter but it seems you're even more brainless than I thought! Heartless too. Oh, I love it! You'd rather see her dead than married to me! Dead by her own hand or forced to leave school and give up any hope for a decent future. The only reason she's marrying me is to stay in school, the only thing that seems to give her life meaning. But of course, you'd be happier if she died..."

"That's not true!" shouted Harry furiously. Snape raised a threatening eyebrow and she shouted, "Sir!" as an afterthought.

Snape smirked evilly. "You know, I was watching the three of you that morning in the Great Hall." His smooth voice triumphant. "I watched you the whole time. Inevitable, really, as the conversation around me revolved completely around Granger and her predicament, and I couldn't help noticing the complete disregard the two of you had for your so-called friend. You were completely indifferent to her suffering. Had you given the matter any though at all you would have realized that her entire world had ended. But you completely ignored her. Couldn't care less. It was most entertaining!"

"Of course we cared!" shouted Ron. He looked stricken. "We just couldn't do anything!"

"Except give her the cold shoulder and treat her like a leper. You're doing a fine job of that! A true friend would stand by her and give her comfort no matter what, but, being no true friends at all, you're doing exactly what I thought you always would. Think of the distress she must be suffering, knowing she has to give her body to me! And are you there for her? Of course not! Bravo!"

Snape sniggered into their horrified faces. "It puts me to mind of another betrayal, one that happened twenty years ago, Wormtail betraying his dear friend James... But how unlike your father you are, Potter!" Snape mused depreciatingly. "James Potter would have given his life for any one of his friends, even weak little Peter Pettigrew. And you drop idealistic, loyal little Granger simply because she wants to stay in school! _Beautiful!"_

"Why do you care?" burst Ron belligerently. "Why are you so interested in Hermione staying in school? Why are you marrying her?"

Snape's wide, toothy smile was positively gruesome. "Why? Because I'm a dedicated teacher and when confronted with the tragedy of a brilliant student being stripped of her future, I altruistically volunteered to save her from that fate." He looked scathingly at Ron. "Why do you think, you little moron! Honestly, Weasley, You're so dense I wonder that the weight of you doesn't crack the floor! Why am I marrying her? Because I want her sweet, nubile, young body in my bed, of course! She gets to take the N.E.W.T.s and go on to University, and I get all the sex I want, over and over, every night until they repeal the law. And she really doesn't have any choice."

Ron looked sick. "There has to be another choice than you!"

"Really? Well, let's see now. What choices does she have? Bear my children and stay in school, or have some other nasty old wizard's children and leave school, or kill herself. Perfect! This couldn't have worked out better for me if I'd planned it myself."

"YOU DISGUSTING, PERVERTED, SLIMY OLD BASTARD!" shouted Harry, lunging over the top of the desk towards Snape.

Snape's wand was out in an instant and pointing at Harry's throat. "Temper, temper, temper!" he hissed poisonously as Harry backed away from him off the desk. "Always your best asset, wasn't it, Potter, or was it your best weakness? You couldn't even begin to master Occlumency because of your temper and that led to the death of Sirius Black, didn't it? Oh, dear. I shouldn't have mentioned your godfather's name, should I? Poor Potter. You seem to loose friends right and left. Your father would be so proud of you!"

Snape's malevolent eyes held Harry's gloatingly for a minute. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher and fifty more for attempting to attack one! Now, get out! Entertaining as you both have been, I believe I've had enough of you!"

Harry and Ron exited the office rapidly. They slammed the door behind them and raced to the dungeon hallway where they leaned against the wall, panting in their haste and fulminating rage.

"That Greasy Git! That disgusting old bat! That evil, vile monster!" hissed Ron despairingly. "Poor Hermione!"

"We're just as bad as he is!" bit Harry angrily. "Snape's right. We should have stood by Hermione and we didn't. She's been hurting and we've treated her like garbage!"

"I can't stand to think of that animal touching her!" fumed Ron. "Maybe she's better off dead! Maybe the kindest thing we could do for her would be to poison her!"

"That's just what he'd like!" snapped Harry savagely. "He'd love it if we killed her and went to Azkeban! He'd laugh all through our trial!" They were both silent for a moment. "Hermione's been loyal to the both of us from the very beginning." Harry muttered. "She did things she really didn't want to to back us up. She always has. And look at how we treat her. The best thing we can think of to do for her is kill her?"

Ron looked at the floor miserably. "I didn't really mean that, Harry," he whispered huskily. "You know that."

"Yeah, I know. You love her don't you?" Ron nodded dully, still contemplating the floor. "I do too. Well, if we care about her, the best thing we can do now is to apologize to her, try to make it up to her. We'll let her know we're there for her no matter what. Snape may be a monster, but at least she's alive. That's something. And when this law is repealed and Hermione goes free, we'll all hex the stuffing out of him!"

Ron seemed to brighten a little with that last statement. "come on, let's go find her!" The two of them moved off purposefully, never noticing the tiny flesh-colored string hanging from the wall above them.

In his office, Severus Snape chuckled in satisfaction as he reeled in the Extendable Ear. Reverse psychology really was a wonderful thing.


	5. Husband and Wife

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. 

**Chapter 5 _Husband and Wife_**

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, perusing her History of Magic text, happier than she had been since the Marriage Law had caught her in it's ugly snare. Inexplicably, Harry and Ron had decided to be friends with her again. After three long weeks of the cold shoulder, this renewal of companionship was healing balm to her aching soul.

They had come to her suddenly a couple of days ago, anxious, worried, shamefaced, and had apologized to her for treating her like a pariah. Hermione had been so happy to have her friends back again that she hadn't had the heart to be angry or resentful. She had forgiven them on the spot and didn't even ask them what had made them change their minds towards her. She was just grateful not to be alone anymore.

"I think I should put Crimmons in as Beater, not Chaser," Ron was saying seriously. "His aim is better than Langdon's. Besides, it's important for the chasers to work well together. The last practice we had he and Ginny seemed to be reading each other's minds. I think we should try the Over-loop strategy." He stared intently at the three dimensional diagram he was working with and moved a couple of miniature Quiddich player models to different positions.

"That worked against Hufflepuff last year, but Slytherin might be expecting it. What about the Double Back Feint?" Harry asked.

"Maybe. What do you think, 'Mione?" Ron looked at her inquiringly.

"Honestly, Ron," she said, "I really don't know a lot about Quiddich. You're the team captain, not me. You're the strategy whiz. Say, why don't you try something like that Chess move you beat me with yesterday?"

"Yeah, maybe... if we make Crimmons fly this way, and Ginny move over here... Harry, then you can fly up over this way--that's if you haven't found the snitch yet, and Bowman can go after their Chaser..."

Hermione did her Herculean best not to sigh. Perhaps an occasional bout of solitude would be a good thing. She was almost never alone now. She actually seemed to be suffering from an excess of companionship. Her friends were being a little too companionable. They hovered over her like bodyguards. they followed her like faithful dogs. They peppered her constantly with bright, cheerful attempts at conversation and encouraged the other students who had been shying away from her to pay attention to her too. Hermione felt sure they would have followed her into the lavatory if they could.

They felt guilty, of course. Hermione could see it in their eyes, that cloud of self doubt, that apprehensive look of shamed worry, or perhaps that was only just pity. They never mentioned her dreaded upcoming wedding. Odd, how something so momentous was looming in her future and yet they tiptoed around that subject as if it didn't exist. Perversely, she found that rather comforting.

It had been far worse contemplating her future when she was alone and friendless. She had spent that first three weeks thinking of nothing else, and now she found she was being distracted from it almost continually. If she didn't want to think about it, she didn't have to. But, strangely, now that she didn't have to ponder the fact of her marriage all the time, in the odd moments that she did consider it, she found she could look at it more bearably.

It wasn't the end of the world, she found herself reasoning. It was bad, yes, but not intolerable. She could survive it. The thought of Severus Snape as a husband was a frightening, even a disgusting thing, but she had to admit-- it could be far worse. He could be five foot two and three hundred pounds. He could reek of body odor and be crawling with lice. He could be old, wrinkled, and missing his teeth!

Hermione could think of much worse wizards than Snape to have to be married to, wizards who were older and uglier--Mundungus Fletcher, for instance, or the toothless innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron. She could think of wizards far more evil and sinister, such as Waldon McNair, or Lucius Malfoy. Hermione shivered. Those two had been among her petitioners. That was why she had tried to kill herself. Life could definitely be worse. Why, even Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the Knight Bus, would be worse than Snape! Stan was stupid as well as ugly. Snape certainly wasn't stupid. She did respect his intelligence.

Actually, what made Severus Snape most objectionable wasn't his appearance. Hermione couldn't really hold someone accountable for their looks. After all, _she_ was certainly no beauty! What made Snape so awful was the nastiness of his personality, his coldness, his harshness, and his lack of fairness. It was these qualities that made him appear ugly, as opposed to simply homely.

But why would he offer to marry her? He had always seemed to hate her. Sex, of course, was the obvious answer, yet that didn't seem logical either. There were any number of ways that men could find relief of that nature without the commitment of marriage. He had said that he didn't want children, and he was even offering her higher education...

Hermione tried in vain to think with the mind of a Slytherin but found the exercise dizzying. There had to be countless serpentine paths of reasoning associated with this situation. Perhaps this was a way for Snape to curry favor with his fellow teachers or his headmaster. Perhaps there was someone else entirely that he was angling to be noticed by-- someone in the ministry, perhaps. Maybe he was making a statement by acting the hero and rescuing a student, or maybe she was just a pawn in his private war with another wizard. Trying to figure him out was maddening.

And, she reasoned, as bad as Snape might be, he was unlikely to actually harm her, no matter what the Slytherins taunted. Sharing a bed with him wouldn't be pleasant, but he wasn't going to beat her, torture her, or cause her serious injury. He was a teacher, after all. If his wife ended up in the hospital wing, it wouldn't look very good for him. And he was unlikely to forcibly rape her.

Not that submitting to him wouldn't hurt, Hermione pondered, lying sleepless in her bed, only days before her marriage. She wished now that she had made some attempt to acquire experience. Most of the students that she knew here at Hogwart seemed to have slept around except her. Perhaps it was because of her conservative Muggle upbringing, but she just hadn't wanted to rush into sex without being in love.

Sex for the sake of sex had seemed dirty and sordid. It still seemed that way. And in the deepest part of her soul she had to admit that she was also reluctant to relinquish her self-control, to be vulnerable to someone else, to be at their mercy. To be at Snape's mercy was a particularly scary thing, and if she had known that was coming, she might have jumped onto the shagging bandwagon. But if anyone had told her back then that she would end up married to her Potion's teacher, she would never have believed them anyway.

_How bad could it be?_ she asked herself bracingly. Countless women all over the world and throughout history had suffered worse. There had been women sold as slaves or traded as spoils of war. Women languished in harems, entering the married state barely at puberty. There were places still where the female sex was held in the lowest esteem possible, where veils hid all but the eyes and an accidental robe blown up by the wind to reveal even an ankle could result in death. Women were not allowed learning in places like these. In the fetid cities of the Far East, girls younger than ten were sold into prostitution.

_Snape's little whore._ Hermione's mind shied away from that thought. She was going to be a wife, not a prostitute. Yet, if some women had to give their bodies to scores of awful, strange men and go on living, surely she could sleep with just one, one that at least she knew, and survive. Hermione had read a novel once that had a prostitute as one of it's characters. That character had endured the sordidness of her work by thinking of something else, by using mind control. She had pictured a beautiful, secret place in her mind and had made that image so powerful that she had almost not felt the ravages of her clients.

Could she do that? Could she make a picture in her mind that would shut out Severus Snape? Hermione could master any form of magic presented to her. She could make a Corporal Patronus almost as well as Harry Potter. The only magical disciplines she had not done well with were Divination and flying. Surely she could master mind control. But, she had only a couple of days...

Severus let go of the Portkey that had transported him and the headmaster to the Minister's office. They were the first ones to arrive, which was traditional, of course. Snape stilled himself to his usual regal dignity, even though inwardly he was anything but calm and dignified. What if she didn't come? What if she disregarded all the logic he had so painstakingly laid out for her and plunged into suicide anyway? The way she had looked at him, or failed to look at him, in the last few weeks made that a distinct possibility.

"Relax, Severus," said Albus Dumbledore reassuringly, "she'll be here. Just be patient."

Snape didn't reply. How did that old man continually read his mind? He schooled his face into stony, ironic expressionlessness. There was no way in the world he wanted anyone else to get the slightest hint that he felt anything at all.

On one level, he almost couldn't believe he was actually doing this, that he was actually getting married. It was a vulnerable position to be in, and a soberingly responsible one too. He had never wanted responsibility of that kind. He had always preferred to be safely autonomous. But he hadn't wanted to fall in love either, and he couldn't let Hermione Granger be sold off against her will to someone else...or die. If anyone was going to have her, it was going to be him. _She is going to be mine tonight. _That was of course if she showed up.

"Ah, now. You see, Severus? Here they are."

There was movement in the passageway and presently Minerva McGonagall strode in with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, all resplendent in dress robes. After them came his bride.

Severus tried not to stare at her. He didn't want to make a fool out of himself after all, but she was so beautiful. She was every bit his ideal of loveliness approaching in that flaming red wedding dress, a gown that showed a luscious amount of bare neck and shoulder, and clung to every one of her sweet curves before sweeping gracefully, silkily, around her feet as she walked. Long masses of decadent curls tumbled about her face and cascaded halfway down her back. There was a heartbreaking aura of innocence in that face. Good Lord, she was so young! Eighteen years in body, but only seventeen--or possibly younger in mind or soul if she was as untouched as he thought she was.

Snape felt a thrill of apprehension, a twinge of doubt. What in the world was she doing with him? He felt tainted in comparison with her, old and sullied with unnamable darkness. She deserved far better. He could feel the cold, accusing eyes of Potter and Weasley boring into him and he pulled himself together, eyeing them back with disdainful coldness. That sort of thinking would get him nowhere. Of course she deserved better than him, but she could do far worse, and would have if he hadn't offered to take her. And she knew it. That was why she had accepted him. He was the better solution.

Fudge entered, following the bridal party and strode to the podium to ready himself for the ceremony, pausing to speak a few words of greeting with Albus Dumbledore. The Minister's manner toward the headmaster was still suspicious and strained. He looked resentful that Dumbledore should be here for this ceremony. Snape curled his lip in exasperation. Albus _was _his Best Man. Of course he would be here! Severus didn't give a damn if the Minister didn't like him!

Minerva beckoned Hermione to the side to fix a loose flower on the bridal headpiece, and Snape used the opportunity to approach Potter and Weasley.

"Well, well," he said in dry whispering sarcasm, "Which of you is the Maid of Honor and which of you is the bridesmaid?" Weasley turned red and Potter turned white.

"We're her friends, Professor," said Weasley.

"We're her Men of Honor...Sir." said Potter. His manner was stony.

"Men of _Honor. _Really?" He raised an eyebrow in such a way to convey grave doubt as to their manhood and their honor, and possibly any other virtue they thought they possessed. "Amazing," he murmured before gliding back to his place near the podium.

Fudge called the group to order and began the ceremony. Severus stood regally before the podium and Minerva, in the stead of the bride's parents, placed Hermione's hand in his-- a soft, warm hand, smaller than his own. He allowed himself to imagine those soft hands whispering gently over his skin. But she wouldn't willingly do that at first, would she? He would have to teach her to want him. But no problem, he was an excellent teacher.

Hermione had a detached, almost unreal look in her eyes, as though she too couldn't believe this was really happening. It was better than her looking afraid, Severus thought, but that vacant stillness bothered him. Her voice seemed small and far away as she made her responses.

Snape barely listened to the vows he was making. This wasn't a permanent wedding anyway. It was almost a joke on Fudge, who was surely the idiot who had written the stupid Marriage Law. He and his bride had no intention of following their promises to raise lots of wizard children, or to live with each other for the rest of their lives. As soon as the law was repealed, his lovely bride would run away from him as fast as she could. Severus didn't want to think of that.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife!" Fudge announced importantly. "And now you may--" Snape gave him an icy look. The Minister faltered and cleared his throat nervously. Severus wondered how many unwilling brides that idiot had presided over in the last couple of weeks.

"May I present to you, Lord and Lady Snape!" said Albus Dumbledore encouragingly.

Severus turned around, Hermione's hand still in his, and bowed to their little group of witnesses. He led his bride to each well-wisher in turn to shake their hands and then walked back to the Portkey, Hermione still in tow, and touched both their hands to the device that would transport them to his suite of rooms. In a whirling, gut-wrenching instant, they were home.

Snape watched Hermione glance cautiously about his quarters. He made no move to rush her just yet. She reminded him of a young deer, watchful, shy, apprehensive. She noticed her trunk and other satchels and moved over to them.

"Um... I guess I'll get changed then," she said awkwardly.

She picked up a bundle of fabric, located the bathroom, and disappeared inside. After an interminable amount of time, in which he had long since made his own preparations, she emerged clad in a simple sleeveless nightgown of virginal white. He stood still and let her approach him.

Hermione walked toward him almost jerkily, her knees stiff with nervousness. This was it. It was going to happen to her now. She did everything she could to strengthen her resolve, even though that was difficult to do when approaching her half naked Potions master. He had stripped down to a pair of black silk boxer shorts. His shiny black hair hung to bare bony shoulders. His skin was very, very white.

He reached out and took her by the arms, calloused fingers warm against her own bare skin, and drew her closer. Hermione quickly conjured an image of her parents' homey cheerful house, the happy brightness of the sun through the lace curtained windows, the warmth of the kitchen. She visualized her own room there, the safe sanctuary she had known from the earliest days of her life. She saw the pale frilly bedspread, the shelves of books, the pictures on the walls. She would be there in that sanctuary tonight, she could almost feel it...She willed herself to feel it.

She was startled back to awareness with a jerk as iron hands on her shoulders shook her. Hermione stared up into Snape's deep agate eyes.

"Do not do that, _Mrs. _Snape. It. Is. Insulting, " he said quietly. "You did agree to marry me, did you not? The least you can do is to extend me the courtesy of actually being present in your body when we are together!"

Hermione nodded, suddenly terrified. How had he known what she was doing? She felt on the verge of hysteria but quenched it with an effort. Snape wasn't known for his patience. There was no telling how he would react if she fell to pieces and started to cry. She couldn't do that.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"Severus," he said. "You will call me by my name, and it is Severus."

"S-s-severus, " she stammered.

He suddenly looked very exasperated. "This isn't going to be torture, Hermione!" he said in an irritated voice. "People have been having sex since time immemorial, and coming back eagerly panting for more! I think we can safely assume you'll come though it all right. I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Yes you will. You won't be able to help it," she whispered through chattering teeth, eyes unable to look at him. "It's my first time. The first time always hurts."

"Not for you, it won't," was the smooth silky response. She glanced up at him warily.

"Come here," he said, tugging he toward the bed. She stiffened. "Come, come, come. Let's not be ridiculous! I'm going to show you something!" He pulled her stumbling in her awkwardness to the side of the bed and then reached over to the night stand and picked up a small jar which he handed to her. She looked at it questioningly.

"What is it?" she stammered.

He unscrewed the top and invited her to sniff the contents. "I'm not Potion's master for nothing. Do you recognize what this is?" He grimaced wryly. "No, of course you wouldn't. You are innocent, after all, although that will change very soon..." Hermione quailed. "Have you, in any of your readings, come across Venus Cream, also known as Salve of Aphrodite? No?"

"Venus Cream is a potion salve that, when applied to the skin prior to penetration, removes all pain from sexual intercourse." His eyes met hers while she digested this information. "That's right, Hermione, it removes the pain and leaves the pleasure unfettered. And I do mean for you to have pleasure. After all, Innocence Lost should be a very beautiful thing..."

Hermione stared at the jar in her hand. He had made her a potion that would remove pain. That was thoughtful-- kind, actually... She looked up at him. Never in her wildest imaginings would she ever have expected him to be kind.

Snape took the jar from her hand, put it back on the bedside table, and drew her close to him again. Hermione could feel the heat radiating from him, his warm breath on her face, the incredible sense of latent power that seemed to shimmer invisibly from his entire body. Gentle fingers raised her chin and he bent his head to kiss her. He kissed her hungrily, searchingly, the tender insistent movement of his lips creating different sorts of tremors within her.

"Open your mouth, Hermione," he whispered between commanding kisses and she did so, gasping as his tongue caressed her mouth. She had never been kissed like this before in her life and she discovered, astoundingly, that she liked it. How could it be that she was kissing Severus Snape, the most hated teacher at Hogwarts, and enjoying it?

She shivered slightly when her nightgown fell to the floor, shivered with desire as well as fear. She trembled at the sense of crushing vulnerability as she felt his fingers tickle over her back and his mouth continue to devour hers with deep, penetrating kisses. She was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted and she couldn't stop him. She jumped a little as his lips tickled her neck.

"Relax, my sweet," he murmured in that deep velvet voice that now seemed the most erotic thing Hermione had ever heard. "Relax," he continued as he lowered her to the bed. "I'm going to give you your first lesson in pleasure. Pay attention. There may be a test later."

Things seemed to move with incredible speed after that. His touch was everywhere, his kisses were everywhere. Her entire consciousness was filled completely with nothing else but the feel of his insistant, expert hands, and his warm, caressing mouth. She tried not to think that it was Snape who was doing these things to her, that it was dark, snarky Professor Snape whose magic hands and lips were charming her body and bending her to his will. Presently, she didn't care anymore. Presently, she was begging him not to stop, begging him and whispering his name as her world seemed to melt into rapture.

She welcomed it when he invaded her, welcomed him with a hungry willingness that surprised her. As he promised, there was no pain at all in the gentle violence of their coupling, only a new understanding of pleasure, a lesson she took to heart and responded to with a passion she had no idea she was capable of.

Much later, as they lay deliciously drowsy side by side, Hermione wondered to herself about what had just happened to her. How could snide Professor Snape, the meanest man in the Wizarding World, have been such an incredible lover? And how could she, a serious, practical, in-control sort of person, have behaved as wantonly as she had? She marveled at the memory of it. How embarrassing, but how good, how very, very good...

"What are you thinking, my sweet?" came a teasing deep velvet murmur in the dark.

"That was wonderful," she whispered.

Snape chuckled softly. "Yes. That was rather good for a first attempt. Plenty of room left for improvement, of course, but that improvement should be swift."

"It gets better?" she gasped.

"Oh, yes," he purred, "absolutely."

Hermione was silent in astounded contemplation. Better than that? How? Immediately her imagination began coming up with fascinating pictures of how it possibly could get better.

More chuckling emanated from Snape's direction. "I can only guess what's going on in that incredible mind of yours." Fingers tickled the side of her face and played with the wealth of her hair. "Considering what a fast learner you are proving to be, we should be up to speed in matters of passion in no time at all." He tugged teasingly at one of of her curls. "Not that I expected any less. You're an incredible student, Hermione. I doubt there is anything you couldn't master completely if given the proper attention."

Hermione was flabbergasted. "That's the first compliment you've ever given me Professor ... ..um..Severus."

"No, the first compliment I gave you was asking you to marry me."

"Yes," she admitted thoughtfully. "But if you think I'm such a great student, how come you never told me so before? You acted as if I couldn't do anything right! You were nasty to me!"

"I treat everyone that way, Hermione," he said dryly. "I never give compliments to students on principle. It goes to their heads and they become careless. Carelessness in a potions lab can be deadly. And, yes, I did go out of my way to never compliment you. Your brilliance seems to be surpassed only by your confidence, which is only one step away from arrogance. Besides, every other instructor was panting over you like a pack of slobbering puppies! Someone had to be the counterbalance."

Hermione suppressed a giggle. He couldn't help picturing the rest of the Hogwarts faculty with puppy faces, grinning dopily with mouths gaping open and tongues hanging out. The thought of tongues made her twitch a little. She was getting a dirty mind! If this was what innocence lost was like...

Severus chuckled again, pulled her close to him, and began to kiss her with slow, deliberate, leisurely kisses, kisses that were sensual and delightfully invasive. She sighed luxuriously. She loved being kissed like this. Who would have thought just kissing could be so incredibly exciting? She relaxed and opened her mouth and his lips devoured her with more intensity. He delved into her, tongue sliding along the sides of her mouth and tickling hers.

She felt goose bumps popping out all over her body. Parts of her she had thought tired and dormant seemed to surge back into insistent life.

"What do you think, Mrs. Snape?" he murmured huskily. "Would you like an encore?"

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly and pulled him on top of her.


	6. The Morning After Blues and Reds

**Author's note:**_ I want to thank everyone who has given me such kind reviews. Your support for this first posted story of mine is nectar and ambrosia, as well as high powered fuel for further creativity. Thank you._

_Hold on to your hats, here comes the first fight..._

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her affiliates.

**Chapter 6: _The Morning After Blues...and Reds_**

As Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast, there was a momentary hush as students looked up from their food and conversations to note her presence. She steeled herself resolutely. What did she expect, after all? She was a student married to a teacher, and not just any teacher. She was the wife of the most hated and feared professor in the school, a man referred to as: "the Greasy Git," "the Ugly Old Bat," or "The Vampire." Everyone was going to stare at her. Everyone was going to go back to treating her like a freak. Well, let them, she thought. There was nothing she could do about it, and she was used to isolation by now.

She tried not to blush as she made her way across the room to the Gryffindor table under the weight of curious eyes. This wasn't anything half so embarrassing as the experience earlier in the morning, of waking up completely naked next to her Potion's professor. It had actually taken her a second to remember where she was, the fact she was married, and the way she had behaved the night before. Snape had smirked at her in an irritatingly smug superior sort of way. He also had seemed to think her lingering modesty rather amusing. Trying to preserve one's dignity under circumstances like that hadn't been easy.

After passing, pridefully, three tables of whispering, almost sniggering, fellow students, Hermione took her place next to Harry and Ron, both of whom looked at her nervously.

"Hi, Harry. Hi, Ron," she ventured as she helped herself to bacon and eggs.

"Er..hi, 'Mione."

"Yeah...Hi."

Hermione felt as well as saw the furtive glances that continually rested on her in the Hall. Students would look over at her, hurriedly pay attention to their food or their neighbors, and then look over at her again. Curious glances. Looks of morbid fascination. The glares from the Slytherin table were perplexed and disappointed. She heard whispers as well.

"How...are you?" Harry ventured. Ron didn't seem to be able to make any conversation at all. He only addressed himself nervously to his plate of sausages.

"Fine, actually," she said, pouring syrup on her pancakes.

"Oh...good!" said Harry with false cheerfulness. He eyed Snape who had just entered the Hall and was now sitting at the Head Table applying himself to his coffee. The Potion's master sent Harry an ironic look and smirked ever so slightly in their direction.

Hermione blushed at that smirk (which she was positive was deliberate!) Her reaction to Severus Snape had become very confused. He was still the dark, snarky teacher who had put her down for the last six years, and who she had once been certain had hated her. He was also the husband she had married out of desperation. And he was also the incredible lover of last night who had taught her the meaning of pleasure.

How could one dislike somebody and desire them at the same time? Because she did desire him. In spite of the fact that he irritated, infuriated, and intimidated her, and that she knew what sort of man he was...and didn't like it, she was secretly looking forward to surrendering to him again. That was crazy!

But... it wasn't that she actually liked _him,_ Hermione told herself soberly. It was just sex that she liked. She wondered to herself if sex with anyone else would have been the same. She secretly appraised some of the boys around her and mentally shook her head. She doubted it. There was something about her husband's sure, almost effortless, skill with her last night that showed years and years of practice-- and the sort of Slytherin subtlety that would lead him to pursue such practice and hone it into a science. Not to mention flaunt it! No, any prior experiences she might have acquired probably would not have been as good. Did that mean hat she really _did _desire him? Hermione stole a glance at Snape's pale, sallow face, quelled another blush, and turned her thoughts to more safe and ordinary things.

"You're really OK?" asked Ron dubiously. Maybe he had noticed the blush.

"Yes. I'm OK. Really." She paused, and then added, "Um... are you practicing Quiddich this afternoon?"

"Oh... yeah! Ginny's friend Theresa's trying out for Second Chaser. Gin says she's pretty good. She's riding a Nimbus 4,000."

"Not as good as a Firebolt, though." said Harry.

"Still's a pretty good broom. Better than mine..."

Hermione relaxed as the conversation continued with Quiddich. Things had moved closer to normal between her and her friends now. She nodded and made wise sounding comments to their sport-centered talk and thanked Heaven for even this little crumb of belonging.

She was heading to Arithmancy after breakfast when Parvati and Lavender ran up to her breathlessly.

"You look good!"

"Positively glowing!"

Hermione smiled politely at them but couldn't help feeling a stab of irritation. She was on her way to class.

"What was it like?"

"Having to sleep with Snape, I mean."

"Good, actually," Hermione replied in a dismissive way, and moved a little faster.

Parvati squealed.

"I knew it!" exulted Lavender triumphantly.

Parvati ran ahead of Hermione and stopped in front of her, expression beaming. "Did you have a...you know..." She mouthed the word in exaggerated lasciviousness.

Hermione felt exasperated. she rolled her eyes impatiently and tried to dodge around the two Gryffindor girls. "Well, of course! A couple of times. Now, get out of my way, please, I'm going to be late for class!"

Both girls squealed and Hermione felt a definite sense of unease fill her stomach. She probably shouldn't have said anything at all. These were the most determined gossips in the entire school.

"A couple of times?"

"On your first night?"

"How many times did you do it?

"They probably did it all night! Like rabbits!"

"Hey, listen you two," Hermione faltered, "I really don't want to discuss my wedding night. It's my Honeymoon. It's _private._"

"Oh, come _on, _Hermione!"

"You're being silly! All girls talk about their wedding night! My sister told me every single detail!"

"How many positions did you do?"

"Did he do a lot of foreplay?"

"Look at her blush! He must have!"

"Oooh! He must be a love machine!"

"I'll bet fifty galleons he's memorized the Khama Sutra!"

"Stop!" Hermione almost hissed. "I told you this is private! And I really don't think Severus would like to be talked about like this!" Ron Weasley, she thought, would love to be spoken of as a love god, but not Severus Snape...

"Sev--er--us!" giggled Lavender. "She calls him Severus!"

"Well, that's his name!" exploded Hermione. "I'm not going to call my husband Professor or Sir! And listen, really, this is my private life. Please, I don't want to be talked about all over the school!"

"Oh, don't worry!" said Lavender, patting her arm.

"We're your friends!" said Parvati with a gleaming smile.

Snape began his class schedule buoyed up by a feeling of satisfaction. The wedding night had been more than a success and he had acquitted himself extremely well. He had made his bride enjoy him when she had come to him expecting no enjoyment at all, when she had expected pain and humiliation instead. He smirked smugly to himself. That innocent blush of hers this morning had been fun to watch!

He quietly exulted in the memory of Hermione's lovely body quivering at his touch, the incredible experience of having her, possessing her. That moment when he was kissing her, when her mouth opened, when she relaxed and her stiffness left her, and she surrendered to him--sweet, innocent, utterly vulnerable, would live in his heart until the day he died. He looked forward that evening to continuing her lessons in lovemaking. She had a way to go before becoming the passionate bed-partner he knew she could be, but he had wetted her appetite. The rest would follow naturally.

The first class of the day passed almost normally, even though he saw students eyeing him and studying him furtively. Snape had expected a little of that. He had married a student. True, he wasn't her teacher anymore, Dumbledore was now supervising her Potion's work, but she was still a student. This would make him the object of some speculation, he supposed. Perhaps students would be tempted to see him as more human and approachable.

He would make sure THAT didn't happen. Discipline would continue as always in his classes! No one was going to get away with anything less than exemplary work and respectful behavior around him. Let them just try...

As the day progressed, he noticed a change in the furtive glances. Boys looked at him almost in awe. Leers and thumbs-up signals were flashed at him. Girls giggled as they passed him, and some of them blushed. Several Slytherin girls winked at him and smiled suggestively. What the Hell was going on?

Hermione was on her way to her last class after lunch when she heard rapid footsteps approaching her from behind. Before she could turn to see who it was, she felt hard, pinching fingers grab her shoulders. The hands that had grabbed her yanked her backward and spun her around and she found herself staring, startled, into Snape's cold, furious eyes.

"So, here you are!" he hissed. "Just what sort of game have you been playing? What the Blazing, Bloody Hell have you been telling people?"

Snape's face was extra ugly, contorted as it was with fury. His sallow skin was almost a sickly yellow in the torch-lit corridor, and he trembled with the barely suppressed violence of his towering rage. Hermione had rarely seen Severus Snape this angry. The last time she had seen him in a fit of temper this bad had been the night Serius Black had escaped from the North Tower. Her new husband had been terrifying then, and he was just as terrifying now. He squeezed her shoulders painfully and he shook her with every other venomous word.

"I expected better of you, you silly girl! I expected better than to think you'd spread the details of our wedding night over the entire, ruddy school!"

Hermione had been startled at first, even shocked, at the beginning of this violent confrontation, but now she felt some righteous fury of her own rise up inside her. This was Parvati and Lavender's doing, of course. He couldn't blame her! It wasn't fair! She grabbed his hands, wrenched them off her shoulders, and flung them away from her.

"Stop it! Don't you shout at me! Don't you treat me like this!"

"You deserve it, you little hoyden! How dare you treat _me, your HUSBAND, _with such insulting, humiliating disrespect!"

"I didn't!" she shouted back at him. "I didn't do any of that! You're jumping to conclusions! And let me tell you something, Severus. I may be your wife, but I am NOT your underling! I am not your slave! I deserve some respect too!"

"Respect has to be earned, Hermione, and this sort of immature behavior on your part isn't the way to do it!" he hissed icily, as he turned on his heel and marched away from her.


	7. Petulance and Penitence

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her affiliates.

**Chapter 7: _ Petulance and Penitence_**

Hermione continued on to her class, shaking and sick. Snape had been so good to her last night. He had actually seemed kind, and now he was awful. Her upper arms still smarted from the way he had gripped her. She could still see his furious black eyes flashing dangerously into hers, still remember the wrath that had shimmered from him with every angry word.

She felt about two inches high. Hermione didn't know if she had been born this way, but all her life she had feared disapproval. She wanted to be liked, to be thought well of. Not the silly childish approval that empty popularity brought, but real respect, real approbation for her personal merits and her achievements. She craved the regard of her trusted friends and family, and the approval of her superiors.

Severus Snape, now that he was her husband, was both family, and, after last night's intimacy, something that should be closer than a friend. And she still thought of him as her superior. He had been her teacher, after all. And now he was deeply, furiously angry with her, as well as disappointed with her. Hermione could have cried.

But she didn't. She kept on through her class resolutely, almost automatically, forcing herself to take notes, even though she knew she was only half comprehending what she was writing. Her mind felt partially frozen. What had happened? How could things suddenly go so terribly wrong? She hadn't even been married a whole day and already she and her husband had gotten into a first class fight, or rather he had started a fight with her over something that wasn't even her fault.

The more Hermione considered this, the more she passed from shaken and horrified to righteously indignant. It wasn't her fault! She hadn't been walking around all day crowing about her sex life. It was those stupid gossips, Parvati and Lavender who had done that! Surely Snape didn't really think she was the sort of person who would gossip like that! He should have known her reputation. Everyone else did.

After all, she knew what _he_ was like! Hermione knew that Severus Snape was a deeply private person with a prickly sense of his own personal dignity. He couldn't take a joke, and he wouldn't laugh at himself, either. She would never, _ever _have embarrassed him in this way!

The fact that her husband was misjudging her was infuriating, and it spoke volumes about his character as well. Hermione clenched the quill she was holding. She was not going to meekly bow her head if he treated her like furniture, and that was exactly what he had done, like some stern, Puritanical Paterfamilias. The memory of it made her throb with anger, and she understood even less of the notes she was taking as she burned and fumed with smoldering hurt.

Severus was fuming as he stormed back to his office. How in the world was it possible that he could love someone, love them to the point, almost, of pain, and still be so furiously angry at them? It was a mystery, and proof that there were still new mysteries in life. He did still love her, as strongly, if not more passionately than ever. Perhaps it was this reason that his ire at her was so powerful. Snape felt that he could have both kissed her within an inch of her life, and given her a spanking as well! He had expected better of her.

Drat that girl, bragging about their wedding night all over the school. What a ridiculous thing to do! The leers and thumbs-up gestures he had received danced mockingly in his brain. What had she told them? Goodness knew what they believed. He almost contemplated locking himself in his office for the remainder of the day, but of course he couldn't do that.

There was nothing Severus Snape dreaded more than being made to look foolish. The worse moments of his life centered around public ridicule. While it was true that the little imps that had been grinning and winking at him were not actually laughing at him, they were still treating him with appalling familiarity. Humiliation couldn't be far behind. And no student should know _anything_ personal about him. It was safer that way. What had gotten into Hermione? Was this her way of repaying him for this morning's smirk at her modesty?

He remembered Hermione's reaction when he had confronted her. After a moment of frozen shock, her own anger had almost as violent as his. She had told him he was mistaken and that it wasn't her fault. Typical student denial of responsibility, of course. He had gotten that sort of thing from Potter for years.

Still, there was something admirable in Hermione's fierce, stubborn pride, in the strength of spirit that made her round on him and counter his attack. It was a delicious combination of Gryffindor courage and Slytherin tenacity. Even though she had been wrong, the fire in her eyes had been appealing. It had also been stimulating. If she were present in his office at that moment, he would have been avidly plotting her complete bodily surrender.

The thought of Hermine surrendering made him sober a little. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so violent with her. Maybe a little self control would have been better. But, confound that young woman! Snape brought his fist down hard on his desk. He wasn't used to controlling his temper around students! And she still felt like a student to him.

He rubbed his hand ruefully. There had been a loose quill on the exact part of the desk he had pounded on with his fist, another reminder of the benefits of emotional sobriety. Snape sighed. He really shouldn't have treated her so violently. He had probably undone all of the hard, patient work of last night. She wouldn't approach him willingly now. And he wanted her, wanted her painfully...Oh, confound the state of matrimony, and confound the entire female species!

Snape prowled darkly to his last class and gave every student who looked his way, the closest thing he could to the "evil eye." Thankfully, this class was a group of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years. They were already in the habit of cowering. He planned to make sure they _stayed _in that habit.

He was watching them stir their cauldrons, relishing their fear in grim satisfaction, when he found himself wondering if Hermione was, perhaps, not completely at fault for this afternoon's horror. It was possible that she had only told a couple of close female friends without meaning for those girls to spread the story. Of course she should have known the outcome of such a foolish action, but she was extremely young, after all.

As he ate a spare dinner in the confines of his office, Snape considered that his wife was probably suffering a great deal at that moment. By now, she had realized the enormity of her offense and her guilt and embarrassment were probably torturing her. Hermione hated doing anything wrong, and she had always tried to curry favor with the faculty. She'd probably fall at his feet the next time she saw him and beg for forgiveness. That would be gratifying.

Perhaps he could afford to extend a little charity. Of course he could. He would stay in the office long enough to let her stew sufficiently in her guilt. Then when he returned to his rooms, she would be charmingly contrite and penitent, and after some stern, carefully considered moments, he would graciously forgive her. And then they'd make love. They'd make a lot of love. And she'd be so grateful for being forgiven that she would go out of her way to please him in any way that she could...

Hermione forced herself to eat her dinner, or rather, to go through the motions of eating. She had no idea what was served that evening because she couldn't taste any of what she swallowed. She made careful, cheerful conversation with her friends, and went out of her way not to look at the spot at the Head Table where Severus Snape should have been. So he wouldn't even eat in the same room with her! How childish! Not that she cared. She couldn't care less, actually.

Snape was probably waiting for her to lick his feet. Hell would freeze over first! She wasn't going to show any weakness. Showing weakness to a Slytherin was always fatal. Why did she still feel so horribly empty inside? Why should it bother her that he thought so badly of her? She was used to him looking down at her, after all. Why did her throat hurt as if she was going to cry? She wouldn't. He wasn't worth it.

Hermione held vigil for a couple of hours at the Quiddich pitch watching Harry and Ron practice. Then she spent a little time in the Library looking up material for her Charms essay. There was really no reason why she shouldn't go back to her new quarters. It wouldn't do to let him think she was afraid of him. She'd show him she wasn't intimidated by his ridiculous temper. Resolutely, she began to head for "home," but not before tracking down Parvati and Lavender and telling them in no uncertain terms what their nastiness had done to her. The stupid girls had actually looked shocked. Honestly!

The quarters were empty when she arrived and his absence was another stab. He was still avoiding her. So let him. She could give the cold shoulder too. Perhaps she wouldn't say anything to him at all... for days. That would surely send a message... if there was any message to send. Snape probably wouldn't care anyway. _I expected better of you. _Hermione wondered how long this wintery treatment would last.

She busied herself with putting away her things, taking a perverse satisfaction in having to move around his clothing and accessories to make room for hers. Everything he had was neatly and methodically arranged, from his underwear and socks, to his shoes. He'd probably boil over like one of Neville's melting cauldrons when he saw her evening's work. But what else was she supposed to do? She lived here now. She wasn't going to live out of her trunk!

When Hermione was finally unpacked, she stowed her trunk and suitcases as artfully as she could in some of the more dark and unseen corners of her husband's domain and began to prepare for bed. She put on a voluminous Victorian style flannel nightgown that covered her from chin to wrists and ankles, got into bed, and extinguished all the lights but one--leaving one candle lit out of marital courtesy.

It felt like ages of lying sleepless in the gloom before Severus entered the room. Hermione lay stone quiet, face towards the wall, as she listened to the sounds of him preparing for bed. She wondered if he would speak to her or even if he would acknowledge her at all. Then she felt the covers being pulled back.

"Don't you think you're a little overdressed, my dear?" was his sardonic question. Hermione couldn't believe it. He expected her to have sex with him? After the way he acted? She seethed with cold, quiet fury.

"Don't you think you should apologize?" she asked.

All sounds of movement from his direction ceased. He even seemed to be holding his breath. She was certainly holding hers.

"I should what?" he murmured.

"Apologize," she continued through clenched teeth, "for shouting at me! For grabbing and shaking me! For doing all that when it wasn't even my fault!"

"Not your fault? For spreading our intimate details all over the bloody school!" his low whispering voice sounded dangerously peeved, but Hermione didn't care how irritated she made him. There were things she definitely wasn't going to put up with. She sat up and glared at him.

"Oh, use your head, Severus!" she exploded. "Do you honestly think I'm the sort of person who'd spread nasty gossip all over the school? I never do things like that! Certainly never to YOU! And anyway, what did you expect was going to happen? I'm a student married to a teacher. Of course people are going to talk! And you _know_ what everybody else was expecting, don't you? They all thought I was going to look like a refugee from the Gulag! They expected me to be miserable and I wasn't. And the fact that I blushed whenever somebody looked at me..."

She broke off and stared at the wall again, waiting for the inevitable assault. But there wasn't any. There was only silence. It was a very long, uncomfortable silence. Presently Hermione felt the bed creak as her husband sat down. He sighed very slowly.

"I forget, sometimes, how terribly young you are."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath and held it. Now he was telling her she was immature.

"Compared to me, Hermione, you are incredibly young. That isn't something you can help. Nor can you help the sort of companions you are forced to keep in this place." There was another long pregnant pause. "I apologize," he said.

Hermione turned around in shocked surprise. She hadn't really expected he would do it

"What did you say?" she whispered. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I apologize. I should have realized the offense was out of character for you, I should have controlled my temper, and I should have taken into account your age and the fact that you are surrounded by a very large number of nosey, ridiculous, female busybodies."

Hermione looked at him for a few seconds and then, inexplicably, burst into tears.

"Now what?" fumed Snape. "I apologized didn't I? What the Blazes do you have to cry about now?"

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I didn't think that you would... and I was hurt... and..."

"Oh, Merlin's Balls!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "I do believe women have been put on Earth solely to drive men mad, and you're doing a wonderful job of that right now!" Hermione only cried harder. "Come here." he said, and she suddenly found herself being awkwardly held. Very awkwardly held.

It was odd, she later mused in a portion of her brain still capable of logical thought, Severus Snape seemed to know exactly what to do when it came to seduction, but was all thumbs when confronted with tears. And he had actually apologized to her. Hermione wished Snape was wearing a shirt of some kind. She had cried all over his bare shoulder and his skin was slick with it. She looked around for something to wipe them off and began, sniffingly, to try to get control of herself.

Snape handed her a handkerchief and gave her a rather ineffectual pat. Hermione was suddenly touched by his cluelessness in this situation. He seemed, suddenly, far more human. She wiped her eyes and strove to make her breath steady. It would be best to try her hardest to get along with him. He was her husband, after all.

"There," he said, giving her another pat, "I suppose you can't be held responsible for the actions of a few deplorable gossips."

Hermione relaxed and smiled a little ruefully. "They wouldn't leave me alone," she said. "Parvati and Lavender started in on me right after breakfast and fired questions at me. They even blocked my way and wouldn't let me get by! Every time I blushed they practically took notes! And when they found out we'd done it more than once, they went wild. I told them I didn't want to discuss it--"

Severus suddenly looked like the cat who had chewed up the family canary.

"Ah..." he all but purred, "That sounds suspiciously as though you _did_ give them some information..."

"It was an accident!" Hermione sputtered. "They got me before I knew what happened! I didn't mean to tell them anything..."

He smirked. "Well, well, well. Are you sure you were properly sorted? What a little minx you are, getting me to apologize while all the time you're as guilty as sin..."

"I didn't set out to tell them! It wasn't intentional!"

"Of course not!" he drawled teasingly. "You know, Hermione, I do think a little penance is in order, don't you?"

Hermione looked at him stricken. "But...I..."

"And for your penance, I think you should remove all of your clothing and prepare yourself for some very thorough _ravishment_."

She drew breath to speak again, but he put a warning finger to her lips. "And if, by chance, this evening's experience is better than that of last night, you will not breathe a word of it to _anyone_. Understood?" She nodded.

"The last thing I need is a gang of starry eyed, curious little students following me around and trying to flirt with me!"

"Is that what happened?"

"They gaped, they blushed, they giggled! Nobody paid attention. There was an accident in almost every class, two of them life threatening! And at least three seventh year girls winked at me!" Hermione almost giggled herself at the picture that thought conjured. "It will take me days if not weeks to restore order, and I'll have to be three times as harsh with them to do it." He paused and then eyed her. "You haven't undressed, Hermione..."

"Oh...s.s.sorry." She struggled to extricate herself from her nightgown, a difficult process due to the fact that she was sitting on it. It was halfway over her head when she felt his warm fingers tickling her stomach. She jumped. It was still difficult to get used to the fact that Snape was her husband. That he could touch her, that he was touching her now. The gown became stuck around her neck. She had forgotten to unbutton it.

"Wait!" she gasped.

"I've already waited far longer than I want to..." His drawl sounded dangerously mischievous.

"But I can't get it off!"

"Oh dear... hmm... This puts you in a considerably helpless position, doesn't it? I definitely see some very fun possibilities here..."

"Don't you dare!"

Snape chuckled and Hermione felt him work at the buttons of the gown. He had her free in a couple of seconds, and after tossing the gown aside, he took her hands. His thumbs tickled her palms and he regarded her with a droll, ironic little half-smile-- a wickedly possessive half-smile, as if she were the canary and he the cat. Hermione felt a flutter of excitement in spite of herself.

He pushed her slowly down onto the bed, still holding onto her hands, and pinned her under him with her arms held helplessly over her head. His eyes gleamed teasingly in the candlelight.

"Now this, my little penitent," he breathed softly as his lips caressed her face, "Is much more like it."


	8. Settling in

These characters are the property of J. Rowling and her affiliates.

**Chapter 8: _Settling In_**

Hermione found herself adjusting, ever so gradually, to life with Professor Snape. It was an odd sort of life, a strange new existence for her, but not (as she had once feared) an impossible one.

After the first two weeks of married life, where her husband had seemed consumed by the novelty of having a captive bed partner at his disposal each and every night, things quieted down a little between them. Snape didn't pursue her every evening, but curtailed his amorousness to two or three nights a week. Hermione surmised that it must be this way for most couples. No one could keep up that constant level of sexual performance forever.

Hermione felt a touch of confusion in her reaction to this. She honestly didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed. She enjoyed the way her previously unwanted partner made her feel. She liked his skill and, believe it or not, his thoughtfulness. It was hard to imagine Severus Snape actually being thoughtful, but he was considerate in bed, mindful of her pleasure as well as his own-- no matter how much he often tried later to pretend that he wasn't.

Yet, at the same time, it was bizarre being so incredibly intimate with someone who was virtually a stranger to her, who she couldn't even claim friendship with. It made her shy and reticent with him. After all, this was Professor Snape, her teacher-- a grim, bitter man twice her age. He was a dark and mysterious individual who terrorized his students, as he had once terrorized her, and who now had caressing access to the most intimate recesses of her person. The fact that she willingly gave him that access whenever he wished, and secretly gloried in it, was profoundly embarrassing to her.

As a student, she had once been a little afraid of him. Snape didn't actually scare her now. It was impossible to really fear someone who made her desire him, but she had no idea how to relate to him as person. He truly was a stranger. He was aloof, reserved, sardonic, and even sarcastic to her. And even though his snarky sarcasm was no longer as cold or as cruel as it had been when she was his student, it was difficult for Hermione to even begin to comprehend how to understand or become comfortable with him.

Their settling in had definitely been peppered with ups and downs. Severus obviously found sharing space with somebody a difficult thing. He liked things his way, under his control, and in taking a wife he had discovered the frustration of having that control far less than absolute. He had to contend with her possessions invading his space, her access to his possessions ( her rearrangement of his clothing drawers brought on an uncomfortable scene,) and the breaking up of his order and peace. It took him a while to adjust to he fact that his private domain was now no longer quite private.

And Hermione was no shrinking violet about this. She had been respectful always when she had been his student, and she was still respectful of him now-- but to a point. She refused to cower or cringe as his wife. His space was now her space too, and if marriage had brought her responsibilities, it had also brought her rights. She quietly, and sometimes not so quietly, refused to back down when she felt those rights were in danger of being trampled on.

One case in point had been that of her cat, Crookshanks. Severus Snape did not possess a familiar, and had been unaware until after the wedding that she did. He and her cat seemed to loathe each other at first sight. Snape, possibly, would have barred the beast from his quarters had Hermione not resolutely refused to even consider parting with it. There had been a long, tense standoff, and it was Snape who had, grudgingly, backed down. It was the second time she had ever seen him do that. He eyed the cat malevolently from time to time, complained darkly about cat hair on his robes, but suffered Crookshanks to prowl his rooms, if unwillingly. Crookshanks, for his part, favored Snape with an occasional hiss but kept out of the moody professor's way. A good deal of orange cat fur did still manage to find it's way onto Snape's robes, however, no matter how much Hermione tried to prevent it.

She and Severus began to settle down to a tentative routine. They battled out an order to their use of the bathroom in the morning, whose things went where, and which side of the bed they would each occupy when they weren't in the act of occupying the same space on it. Hermione learned what times it was best to give her husband quiet and which times he would be absent on school duties. She also learned which brand of tea he preferred and what he took for headaches.

And, truly, she mused, there were definitely worse fates than to be married to Snape. As Marriage Law victims went, she was probably one of the lucky ones. From the Hogwarts grapevine, she had heard that Waldon McNair had married Evelyn Pritchard, a five year Hufflepuff graduate, and Lucius Malfoy had joined with Jeanine Callinan, a former Ravenclaw only a year older than herself. Hermione felt sincerely sorry for both those poor brides, especially Jeanine, with whom she had been friendly.

According to the rumors, Malfoy's new wife had actually been honored to accept him. Hermione didn't think much of rumors. Who in their right mind would want to be married to Lucius Malfoy? True, he was very wealthy, very influential, and he was extremely handsome, but it was a cold, sinister beauty. There was nothing good or kind in those perfectly molded features, no hint of mercy, or even honor, in his icy, pale blue eyes. He had the face of a beautiful predator, a deadly angel of darkness.

Severus Snape certainly could never be considered handsome, and he was no Mr. Congeniality either, but Hermione sensed that the darkness in him did not comprise the measure of his soul. He could, on occasion, surprise her with an act of kindness, or thoughtfulness, and there was a strong sense of honor about him that seemed to be keeping his secret darknesses at bay.

Funny, how she had never thought to associate Snape with honor, but now that she considered it, that was probably the one characteristic that had stood out in him in all the years she had known him. He had always seemed unfair, but it was only in the petty things that he treated people unfairly. He had never praised her work, yet he had never graded it in a way she hadn't deserved. He hated Harry, and had sought to get him expelled for years, but had looked for legitimate ways to do so. As a crafty master wizard, he certainly could have found a way to frame the boy for something he hadn't done. He could have used countless underhanded methods for getting him into trouble. But he hadn't. He had only watched Harry carefully, and waited for the chance to catch him breaking the rules.

Was it some form of honor that had led him to propose marriage to her? Perhaps there was a little bit of it in saving a person from death. And she would have been dead. She would have been long cold in her grave from suicide before Lucious Malfoy could have found a way to get her into his clutches as a bride.

Hermione puzzled as she considered poor Jeanine. There had been a nagging question in the back of her mind even when she had been facing the prospect of Malfoy's awful proposition to her. She had never heard of the death of Narcissa. Of course she must have died, but Hermione was perplexed that no word had ever gone around the school that Draco had lost his mother. Something like that would surely have been talked about. There would have been condolences, a moment of silence, perhaps. Draco would have been the center of attention-- and he would have enjoyed that, even in his grief. Why had there been no mention of it? Could Draco be that unfeeling?

That _was _possible. Draco Malfoy was almost as revolting as his father. The last thing he had said to her had been chilling.

"Hey..._Mrs. Snape_... congratulate me. I just got a new stepmother! She's pretty too. Of course I had hoped my stepmother was going to be you. I really did, considering my father shares _everything _with me..."

Hermione had felt too sick to eat her dinner after that remark. She hated to think of the sort of hell her former friend was living in. Yes, she was very, _very _glad she was married to Severus Snape!

And there really were benefits to her new life. True, Snape was a little stiff and caustic, but one could always learn to ignore grumpiness. She was still here at Hogwarts. She was still on the road to a first class magical education. And if she tried it carefully, she could get her husband to answer some of her questions, or get him to comment on something she had studied or read. His command of magical knowledge was incredible and he had a marvelous personal library.

It was often hard to concentrate on homework from some of her more mundane classes when books such as: Most Potente Potions (in it's 1st edition,) or Magical Customs of the Andes, or Arithmancy and Muggle Probability, or even Man, Elves, and Giants: An Origin of Species, were sitting on carved oak bookshelves in the same room. There were so many books, many of them extremely old and rare, that she knew it would take many months, or even years to really do them justice. Snape seemed willing to let her read them.

Harry and Ron weren't too appreciative of this perceived benefit on her part of marriage to snarky Snape

"So what if he has _books_ 'Mione?" scoffed Ron. "That doesn't mean he isn't still a git!"

"I wonder how many of them are dark book," mused Harry in disgust. "I'd stay away from them if I were you."

They didn't seem at all interested when she told them that house elves were the distant cousins of True Elves, an extinct magical species, and that human wizards were thought to be a result of human and True Elf interbreeding. She knew better than to try to astound her friends with examples of Arithmagical probability or thurmataugical Mayan lore. Their interests just didn't lie in any of those areas, and Severus didn't seem to possess even one book on the subject of Quiddich.

Hermione was grateful, though, that her friends were still with her, although they did shy away from the subject of her marriage most of the time. She still tried to spend as much time as possible in their company, and still did most of her homework in the Library or the Gryffindor Common room. Any student who even hinted that she didn't belong among them she put quietly, but vehemently in their place. She did her best to steer Lavender and Parvati's conversations away from her husband's sexual abilities and on to other topics they were interested in.

She even sat through a makeover session with them, suffering them to apply makeup on her face and to train her unruly hair into something more stylish. She never told them that their efforts only led to her husband's amusement. Hermione put up with Snape's sardonic sniggers with all the dignity she could manage. She had only gone through all this trouble to stay friends with the other Gryffindor girls. It didn't really matter that much how Severus Snape viewed her appearance, even though she did feel that it would be nice to be appreciated for it a little.

Husbands were supposed to, weren't they? Well, real husbands were. Snape was exempt, after all. He didn't love her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snape settled into his married state with fitfully unforeseen uneasiness. He hadn't given much thought beforehand to what actually being married would be like, even to Hermione whom he passionately desired. He had only thought of saving her from death by her own hand, of protecting her from the madness of the Ministry and abuse by unscrupulous wizards, and, of course, of having her...

Having Hermione had been the primary thought that had occupied most of his attention when he had considered his upcoming union. He had contemplated her seduction avidly and had anticipated it down to the smallest detail possible. In this, there had been no disappointments. Hermione's presence in his bed was a nightly joy to him, and the first couple weeks of his marriage passed by in a blur of exquisitely sated lust.

The other aspects of marriage were completely different and completely new. Sharing a bed with a woman was actually quite easy. Living with one was much less so, especially for someone like him. There were reasons, deep ingrained reasons, why he kept to himself. Events from early in his life had made him distrustful of other people and he always felt vulnerable in the presence of others. Having a spouse ensconced in his quarters, however temporarily, was unnerving.

It wasn't that he seriously thought Hermione would be a danger to him. The only danger he faced was in regards to his heart, but he had accepted that situation from the beginning. He knew his reluctant bride was never going to love him, even as he knew he could not dissolve his feelings for her. Of course there would be pain for him. There was always pain of some kind in his life. He was more than capable of surviving it, and he was determined to enjoy whatever pleasure he could amid that pain. What he didn't want was to cause her pain.

Hermione, for all her initiation into carnal joys, was still an innocent. She knew nothing of him actually, except that he was a caustic bastard of a teacher, and that he had once been a deatheater... and later, a spy. She knew nothing of his past and he meant to keep it that way. She was a good, brave, kind soul with little or no experience with the ways of darkness. True, she had helped to fight dark forces at the end of Voldemort's war, but Severus knew that though his young wife had seen evil and been exposed to it in the course of her battles, it was still something she had no real understanding of. Not the way he did. And he didn't want her to have to understand it. He would hate to see her hurt or crushed in any way. And it could happen so easily.

It probably hadn't been the brightest idea he had ever had to propose marriage to her. There had to have been a better way. He, Severus Snape, the ex-deatheater, was the last person she should be living with day in and day out. He should have thought it out more carefully, but he hadn't. He had foolishly rushed in where angels fear to tread, and now her safety and well-being was his responsibility. One day, sooner or later, some skeleton was going to come rattling out from behind one of his locked closet doors to make it's grisly acquaintance with her and Hermione's hurt would be his fault. He had no intention of ever letting that happen, but he knew there was always the chance of an accident or a mistake...

It was hard having to share space with her, knowing she could observe him at odd moments. There were things he didn't want her to pry into, questions he didn't want her to ask him. Of course he could give her a warning put down, or simply refuse to answer them, but he knew Hermione. With her brilliant mind, she could find a way to delve them out if him, or find disturbing answers on her own, if she tried.

He could never let his guard down. He could never let her see his true feelings for her either. He couldn't let her see the good, or the bad. One or both of them would be hurt--he from her pity or revulsion, her from lost of innocence and the shock of discovering what he was or had been, what he was capable of, what all souls were capable of if they allowed themselves to be.

Thankfully, Hermione had shown no desire to pry into his past. She seemed hesitant and reserved in his presence, which both relieved and wounded him. Not that she was a doormat. Far from it! She forced him into accepting her cat as a third inmate, got the better of him in the matter of the arrangement of his space, and boldly planted herself as comfortably as she could in the midst of his former sanctum. He frankly admired her persistent, tenacious courage. She took her rights as a full legal spouse seriously and expected at least a modicum of equality.

But she never asked questions of a personal nature. She never presumed an easy familiarity. He, Severus Snape, was her former teacher after all. He wasn't a friend, or someone of her own sphere. Snape had watched Hermione confidently chatter away with her friends for years, and boss them about too! The other students were her equals and her inferiors, and she obviously didn't see him that way. She treated him with far more respect than emotional intimacy, no matter how profound their physical intimacy was. Snape knew that this was all for the best, but because he loved her, it hurt him. It would be nice if his wife showed an interest in him as a person, no matter how dangerous that interest would be.

He also began to tone down his sexual advances toward her. After the first couple of weeks. where he joyfully ravished her every night, Severus sensed he was behaving disgracefully. Just because Hermione had accepted him to escape the abuse of the Marriage Law didn't mean _he_ should abuse his spousal privileges--and her as well. She had married him out of desperation, not love. It would be nothing short of dirty pool to keep after her each and every evening. The fact that she never refused him was beside the point. If she never refused the marital act, she never initiated it either. Hermione seemed to see sex as part of her duty, something she owed him, and even though Severus was careful to make sure their unions were always pleasurable for her, giving her a rest from it seemed not only fair but kind.

But it was difficult to hold himself back. There was a hunger in him that raged unquenchably. He wanted her love, and if he couldn't have that, he would settle for her body. There were nights he lay next to her sleeping form, suffering restlessly from a painful, smoldering desire. It was torture knowing she was there next to him, ripe for the taking. He often had to resort to drinking a chastity potion in order to get some sleep. Of course he did everything he could to hide this from her. Not only did he not want to appear vulnerable to her, but he doubted she would really appreciate the strong feelings of her formerly hated teacher. If poor Hermione knew the fierceness of her husband's desire for her, his need of her, she would probably lock herself in their bathroom every night...

Oddly, Snape found the most disappointing side affect, the most irritating consequence, of his marriage to Hermione was the fact that she could no longer attend any of his classes. She was the most brilliant student in the entire school, and he wasn't allowed to teach her! Severus understood the headmaster's adamant position against his wife taking instruction from him, but the absence of her in his classroom was irritating to say the least. It felt unfair to him. After all, it was her brilliance that had attracted him to her in the first place, before he had begun to desire her body.

"How is Hermione's Potion's work coming?" he had asked Albus once.

Oh, fine, Severus, just fine. She's an excellent worker. She almost doesn't need instruction anymore."

Snape had ground his teeth at that. Of course she needed instruction! This was the trap that so many brilliant students fell into. They performed so well that teachers began to neglect them. Hermione was good, but she could be superb. She could become a Potion's expert if given the right direction. Dumbledore was a competent teacher, but his expertise was in Charms, not Potions. He was far from likely to recognize all the opportunities there were to lead Hermione into the true mastery of the subject. Unfortunately, the only thing Severus could do was to wait until his wife was graduated and then send her to just the right master at the right university. But he would have dearly liked to teach her himself instead of giving someone else that privilege.

In the mean time, he had to suffer class after class of idiots, which he endeavored to endure with varying degrees of success. It had taken Snape barely a week or so to restore order. No student smiled or winked at him now, and if any students gossiped about him, they did so in utter secrecy. He had doled out the stiffest punishments he could to any student who stepped out of line in any way, and he did this to students of _all _houses. No pupil, not even his Slytherins were tempted into the insubordination of familiarity, and Snape was sure that most of the inmates of Hogwarts pitied his wife.

It truly was a pity he couldn't bully his fellow teachers the same way. For years, Snape had maintained a comfortable distance from his colleagues. He had always preferred to remain aloof and as separate as he could while still commanding their acceptance and respect. He now found himself as the object of greater attention from them, and it wasn't always pleasant.

Prefessor Vector seemed to think he had acted heroically and regarded him as Hermione's savior. She told him so gushingly. Madam Hooch cornered him in the staff room and angrily called him a perverted old lech. She glared at him resentfully, and Snape had seen her glare often at Hermione too. He had the uncomfortable feeling that old Hooch was actually jealous! Snape shuddered at that. Flitwick thumped him heartily on the back and welcomed him into the ranks of old married men, assaulting his ears with good-natured and mildly randy little jokes delivered in a revoltingly winkish manner. Hagrid gave him and his new wife concerned and worried glances and sadly wished them well.

"Ye'll be good ta her, won' ye? She's just a baby an' all!"

"Did you tell her yet?" asked McGonagall under her breath.

"Leave me alone, Minerva."

"You're making a mistake," was all she said as she sternly walked away.

All of the faculty, no matter how they felt about his marriage, sent him cards and gifts, which meant he had to respond by sending tedious thank you notes. He also received a gift from Lucius Malfoy, an ornate set of silver potion goblets that he knew better than to even consider actually using. Snape couldn't help but wonder why Malfoy was pretending to be on friendly terms with him. Lucius had to know that his one-time crony had turned traitor to the dark lord. What sort of game was he playing at? Or was it all part of some masquerade to appear respectable and good? Snape didn't trust Malfoy as far as he could move the moon. He sent a polite letter of thanks to the proud handsome wizard, but reduced the goblets to a fine silver dust. He never showed them to his wife.


	9. To the Manor born

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 9: _To the Manor Born_**

After a month into their marriage, Hermione accompanied her husband on a visit to his ancestral home on the Cornish coast. Snape Manor was an impressive old mansion, venerable and ivy covered, both formidably beautiful, and bleakly mysterious, planted like a sentinel on a promontory of bluffs overlooking the ocean. Severus aparated with her to the walkway leading to the front of the house, possibly to show her its setting before bringing her inside. The tang of salt on the bracing cool breeze lent a sense of wildness to the antiquity of the place. Hermione took in deep breaths of this crisp primordial air. She had always loved being near the sea.

It was odd, she mused. This wasn't the sort of place she would have ever pictured Snape's house to be. Hermione had once imagined him living amidst a sinister ocean of moor or fen, a scene from The Hound of the Baskervilles, or Wuthering Heights. This romantic looking place was like a setting from a Daphne Dumaurier novel, dashingly dark but hauntingly beautiful. She paused soberly in her thinking. The settings of most of those stories were haunted by ghosts of past heartbreak and evil. Perhaps Snape belonged here after all.

The front door opened automatically as if the house were expecting them. Perhaps it had been. The interior of the house seemed to match her impression of its exterior. It was beautifully elegant in an austere sort of way, understatedly grand, and sparely, tastefully decorated. Hermione had quick impressions of polished furniture, velvet draperies, and sparkling chandeliers amid the simplicity of plain, shiny hardwood floors and ascetically near-empty walls. It was a no nonsense sort of elegance--rather like her dour husband, she thought.

In a Muggle house of this size there would have been servants in immediate attendance, a butler, a housekeeper, or at least a parlormaid. But there was no one here to greet them. The house seemed completely empty. Yet somebody had obviously been keeping it up, very recently in fact. The wood surfaces gleamed with the absence of dust. Neatly trimmed candles filled the torchiers, and cheery fires burned brightly in the grates of every room. The house was almost squeaky clean, yet this was the only visible evidence of any sort of domestic staff.

Of course Hermione knew who, or what, that staff had to be, and she quickly got the impression that she and Severus were far from alone. She had a definite sense of being observed. At first it was just the eerie feeling of unseen eyes on her back, but as her perceptions quickened, she thought she noticed fleeting little glimpses of those observers. Furtive movements flickered in the shadows of every room. Secret eyes, curious eyes, watching her, following her...

She had never had these sorts of impressions at Hogwarts, where she knew the same sort of servants labored, and she supposed this odd awareness should have scared her a little. But it didn't. Hermione could sense no malice in her hidden watchers. The curious eyes that followed her were extremely shy, almost frightened, but they were also eager and welcoming, not menacing. How she knew that, she wasn't sure, but Hermione understood instinctively that the mysterious denizens of Snape Manor were friendly.

Hermione had never been in a wizard mansion before, having only seen more humble magical dwellings, and was surprised by how normal everything looked. Nothing in Snape's house would have looked out of place in any Muggle estate. She had supposed, now that she came to think of it, that the Snape ancestral home would be something like the Black Family house, with sinister artifacts, mounted elf heads on the walls, and screaming portraits. But there seemed to be no portraits here whatsoever, no genealogical tapestries, no suits of armor. There was only room after richly furnished room, spare of decoration, shiningly clean, with a warm, happy fire burning comfortably in the grate. There was nothing here to inspire alarm.

"It's so beautiful," she said, looking out of the windows of an plainly elegant sitting room at the silver expanse of the sea. Even from here she could hear the faint roar and suck of the waves that pounded the rocks of the shore. The crashing breakers sent geysers of foamy spray cascading into the air. Hermione found the wild, regular earthy rhythm of those breakers mesmerizing.

"What is beautiful, the house or the view?" her husband asked quietly. She hadn't noticed him come to stand next to her at the window and his voice surprised her a little. They hadn't spoken very much so far into the tour of the house. Of course they didn't say a great deal as it was. Severus was a man of few words generally, and while Hermione had been known to be a chatterbox with her friends, she was far less voluble with him.

"Both, actually," she said, tearing her gaze reluctantly away from the hypnotic boom and crash of the waves. Snape's face was pensive as he looked out at the sea.

"I suppose that it is," he murmured, his eyes on the pounding surf. "Beautiful and dangerous both."

"Dangerous?"

He turned to look at her unreadably. "This was an evil house once, Hermione. There is darkness that clings to it still, memories of evil mostly." He pointed to the waves assaulting the craggy rocks.

"That is one of the most deadly stretches of coastline in Britain. I don't know if anyone's ever counted the number of shipwrecks that have happened there. My family used to profit by them, an easy business for wizards. A storm summoned, a tidal surge conjured, false beacons on the wrong cliffs, and a ship would end up ground to bits on the rocks. I suppose it was a simple matter to fly down on a broomstick and salvage the cargo...and whatever useful survivors could be found. The ones that lived I'm sure wound up indentured somewhere in the New World. The lucky ones, that is." He turned his back on the scene as if to shut out the picture of past treachery and death.

"That was a long time ago," Hermione ventured.

"Yes, it was," he said simply, and ushered her away from the window. "Come, I'll show you the library."

Snape led her through a long, wide hall that Hermione was sure, in any other mansion, would have been a gallery, but there were very few pictures on the walls. Those that were there were still-lives or landscapes-- wizard art, the kind that moved. Bees buzzed in painted flower arrangements, deer bent their necks gracefully to drink from woodland streams, and ships in full sail plowed through pounding waves. Any human subjects in these paintings were usually shown as tiny figures in the distance, little sailors climbing the rigging of ships, mounted hunters in red coats following after hounds. There was one exception.

Hermione did come across a painting of children in a rather gloomy wizard style nursery. A curly haired boy of about five was playing with a golden snitch, chasing after it, jumping into the air, crowing with triumph when he caught it, only to let it go again, while a pale, black haired girl read a book. The boy whooped and waved at Hermione, grinning impudently at her, but the girl only rolled her dark eyes toward her brother in a long-suffering sort of way, nodded curtly at her viewer, and went pack to her book. It was a gesture so like her husband that Hermione looked at him inquiringly.

Severus merely raised an eyebrow and beckoned her away from the picture, turning to lead her on to the next room. Hermione couldn't help wondering who the Snape children in the picture were and why her husband didn't want to talk about them. She would ask him one day, but today obviously wasn't that day.

When Snape opened the next door, Hermione almost squealed in delight. This was the Snape family library and in one glance, she could tell it was one of the best she had ever seen. Hermione had spent most of her waking life in libraries. As young as she was, she considered herself a connoisseur of them. She had poured through school book rooms and local public libraries from the days when she could first hold a book. Her first taste of the Wizarding world had come from her perusal of the big London libraries, and the discovery of their secret sections of magical books--books that _she _somehow had access to. The Library at Hogwarts was very extensive, and Snape's private collection there was intriguing, but this room was a bibliophile's dream.

It reminded her forcefully of the library in Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_, with books stacked up to the tall ceilings and rolling ladders to make the volumes accessible. It was a huge room, a veritable sea of books, and the warm sunlight pouring through the tall windows gave the place a comfortable, inviting feeling. There was nothing gloomy about this room, nothing stark or austere. Far more decorations existed here than in any other room Hermione had yet seen in this house. Curiosities rested on shelves and adorned the mantelpiece: strange gadgets, globes of various types, stuffed birds and other animals, crystals, jars full of preserved oddities. A large framed map of the magical world hung over the fireplace. The _Order of Merlin_ that Severus had won for his services as a spy was also displayed there.

The furniture, too, was comfortable: plush leather armchairs and divans, footstools, polished wood tables and settees, thick luxurious oriental carpet. As in everywhere else in the house, everything was scrupulously clean, but in spite of that, the room had a slightly used feel to it. This was obviously the place Severus spent most of his time when he was at home, the room he "lived in," and as Hermione explored deeper, she discovered that it was actually more than one room. Snape Manor had a library wing.

The smirk her husband favored her with was teasingly ironic. "I thought you'd enjoy this area of the house. It will probably take some very strong magic to get you out of it."

Hermione smirked back at him and ignored his raised eyebrows. She couldn't help it if this wonderful place represented paradise. Imagine having a library like this in one's house! She began to examine the books, scanning the titles, running fingers along spines, peering up at the ledges of volumes above her. There were massive sections on Herbology and Potions, and entire case devoted to magical history, and countless shelves of spell manuals and Arithmancy formulas. She found biographies of Merlin and other famous sorcerers. She discovered books written in Runic, Sanskrit, and Sumerian. There were even tomes written in Chinese, Egyptian, and in a pictograph language she was sure was Aztec.

"How many languages do you know?" she asked, a little awestruck.

"I'm only fluent in seven but I can read a further five, providing I have a decent dictionary."

"Wow! And Hogwarts only teaches Runic! It's a good thing I studied French and Latin in the primary grades. I'll never catch up!"

"Be patient child. That's what University is for."

"What College teaches Sumerian?"

Severus chuckled. "I did have a private tutor for that."

Hermione found it odd to see Snape laughing. He was usually so grave and pensive, so full of bitter disapproval. Maybe, she mused, this was the one place he could relax and allow himself the indulgence of humor--even though it was still a guarded mirth. The laughter never really reached his eyes.

As Hermione moved on, the neat rows of volumes left the realm of magic and branched into Muggle writings. There was every kind of Muggle literature she could imagine. She found reams of philosophy, religious writings of all kinds, ancient histories and historical commentary, scientific treatises, and piles of classical works in Greek and Latin. Caesar shared space with Voltaire and Macciaveli. Davinci's notes rested near to those of Newton. There were no Encyclopedias, nothing condensed or abridged.

And there was art here as well as science. Hermione found Shakespeare's plays and a wide range of poetry. Novels of all sorts filled the shelves. She found classics by Charles Dickens, and modern works by Susan Howatch. _Gone With the Wind_ shared a shelf with _The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holms. _There were even Sci-Fi classics by Heinlein, and Fantasy works by C.S.Lewis and Anne McCaffrey. Hermione picked up a leather-bound copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and looked inquiringly at her husband.

"Tolkein nearly ended up in Azkeban for writing that," he commented dryly. " The Wizengamot debated for days whether or not he actually violated the Clause of Secrecy. Of course they let him off when they realized no one in the Muggle world was taking him seriously. After all, who, today, actually believes in magic?"

Hermione looked at the book, looked back up at Severus, and laughed.

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Snape watched his wife explore his library with proud bemusement. It had taken him years to amass this collection, and if there was one person who could truly appreciate what he had built here, it would have to be Hermione. She was obviously delighted. Perhaps books had been her escape as much as they had been his, although what she had to escape from, he had no idea. He was very glad to see that here, at least, was one other aspect of marriage to him that she could find tolerable.

Severus had been apprehensive about bringing his bride to the Manor. His house held only evil memories for him. Each room, however much he had altered it, was the site of some past heinous cruelty that he had either endured himself, or had been forced to watch. How odd it was, he mused, as he mentally tiptoed around those dark memories, that he was the one victim who had managed to prevail in the end. He was the one who had survived, and he had eradicated from his house every trace of it's former masters that he could find.

As he looked carefully through the rooms he led Hermione through, he was glad to see that his purges seemed to have the desired effect on him. These chambers, the scenes of his former misery, appeared so empty and nondescript now, so tame and harmless. The memories of his life here only teased and hovered in the background instead of rushing screamingly into his mind. Part of him wanted to explain the changes he had made, to show her his victories, but he knew he couldn't do that. There were things it was far better to leave secret.

In spite of that, he found that he enjoyed showing Hermione his house. Her presence seemed to bless it, as if, by the act of bringing someone sweet and good into these rooms, he was further purging them from the long history of evil that still seemed to touch them. Hermione knew nothing of the horrors that had once lived here. Her eyes seemed to see possibilities of goodness in every chamber, however curious and perplexed she seemed to be with some of the things she saw, or perhaps, failed to see.

Severus could imagine her leaving her mark upon this place, presiding as mistress over a now changed estate. She would redecorate it with her warmth and brightness, and her own brand of peculiar, quirky enthusiasm, perhaps bringing children here to stabilize these changes. Snape stopped suddenly in his thinking. There weren't going to be any children. This blessing would of short duration. His marriage was only temporary.

She followed him out of the library only with great reluctance. Snape could imagine her sleeping in there, as he often had, except that the library really wasn't equipped to comfortably accommodate the sort of bedroom activity he was interested in. There was one very good way in which his lovely bride could further bless his house.

He was leading her, of course, to the master bedroom. It had been days since they had been intimate, and Snape was conscious of a pounding physical desire. He wanted to take her in his house, in that very room, and he wanted to do so very thoroughly. Too many screams of agony had echoed through these walls, and in that chamber, for longer than he cared to think. It would take countless cries of rapture to dispel those phantoms of despair. Today's effort would only be a drop in the proverbial bucket, but one drop was at least a start.

The two of them wandered casually through the conservatory, the laboratory, and the music room. They walked through the old Grand Ballroom, where Severus was sure his wife was picturing Regency Balls, debutante Cotillions, and sumptuous masquerade parties. There had been dances here, but this place had also been the site of depraved rituals no human eye should see. The Dark lord had visited here often. Of course it looked far different now...as did the room that was their destination.

Severus led her up the stairs and eventually into the master suite. Hermione looked about her in joyful appreciation. She took in the carved four-poster with it's romantic chintz and velvet hangings. She looked at the matching cherry wood armoire, the gilded mirrors, the vases of flowers, and the candlesticks. The sun beaming golden through the diamond paned windows lent a softness to the scene that was almost contradictory to the severe, formal elegance of the rest of the house. It was like a benediction in a room that had never known a beneficent kiss.

"Why, this is the prettiest room yet!" Hermione exclaimed happily, moving over to touch the fabric of the hangings and run her fingers over the shiny wood of the armoire.

"This is the Master Bedroom..our bedroom." He came up close behind her as she stood in front of the mirror and observed her reflected features prick up sharply, like an animal sensing a predator. Not frightened, though, he noted with satisfaction, simply startled. "I do think we should make use of it."

She turned to face him doubtfully. "Now? In the middle of the afternoon?"

Severus couldn't help a little smirk. Hermione looked positively scandalized. Some of the bits of innocence that still clung to her were engagingly amusing. That somehow made the anticipation of today's ravishment all the more poignant. He ran his fingers ticklingly through her hair. Her quickly dilating brown eyes looked enticingly vulnerable. He savored the moment.

"Of course, Hermione, what better time? Think of the decadence of it." He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. Her resistant fingertips grazed his arms as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. He let his lips play with hers for a moment before he murmured in the most seductive voice he could manage, "Don't tell me you don't _want_ to."

Either his voice or his touch did the trick. She seemed to soften and yield as if preparing to surrender, and her eyes met his in a combination of awkward hesitancy and appealing hunger.

"Well...it isn't that I wouldn't want to..." Of course she wouldn't say no to him. She never did. She took her obligations dead seriously. If only he could be more than an obligation to her. "I rather _would _like to...actually...yes..I suppose we could..." Great Merlin, he hoped she would never loose that depth of sweetness in her eyes, no matter what else happened to her. He drew her closer to him.

"Well then, "he whispered, his voice dusky with rising heat, "give yourself to me."

He gathered her into a deep penetrating kiss, felt her tense for only a second, and then reveled in the sensation of her relaxing against him, as though her form was melting deliciously into his. Her arms slid around him, fingers probing questioningly into his back, and her mouth opened to kiss him back with soft, tentative passion. The rising heat in him became a consuming flame, and he pulled her to the bed to let it engulf them both.

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The waning sun was making bright shadows through the lace fringed curtains as Hermione drowsily donned her robes. What in the world had come over Severus that he should have been so passionate today? Were men more amorous in the afternoon? Or was it the house, somehow? Not that she minded much. She liked sex, actually, and it really wouldn't bother her if they did it more often. Today's experience, however, had been a little unnerving. Her husband had seemed insatiable. He had wanted so much of her, and had given her the impression that he was watching intently for her responses. She had responded, of course. She hadn't been able to help it, but his passion had almost overwhelmed her.

She threw a few curious looks around the room as she dressed. There were things about this house that didn't make any sense. The bedroom furniture, for instance, was obviously antique, but it looked brand new. Shiningly new. Hermione, who had suffered years of her Aunt and Uncle's fascination with antiques, knew they weren't reproductions, yet they gleamed as though they had just been finished. Or restored. Hermione ran her fingers along the glassy smooth surface of the armoire. Most people who bought antiques didn't restore them to this level of perfection. That lessened their value. Snape obviously didn't care about that sort of value.

Severus was waiting at the doorway. "Come, Hermione. It's time you met the staff. Downstairs in the drawing room would probably be the best."

Hermione brushed her hair quickly, sighed at how messy it always was, peered at her reflection in the perfect shine of the ancient gilded mirror, and turned to follow her husband. She gave the room a few more inquisitive glances before she left. Was that _really _a Ming vase on the corner settee? Incredible!

Following Snape silently out into the landing, Hermione felt awkward at the lack of conversation between them. How could they have been so incredibly intimate just a short while ago, and now have so little to say? She knew it shouldn't bother her, but it did. Even though she was in a marriage of convenience, it would be nice if they became friends. But then, Snape didn't seem to be friends with anyone and he wasn't likely to change that for her. It saddened Hermione that the man who demanded her body didn't seem to want to talk to her afterwards. If only she could know what to say to him.

As they descended the stairs, Hermione couldn't help running her hands along the banisters and the smooth, almost empty walls. She touched places where pictures should have been but were now blank and clean. There were not even traces of nail holes. If she were to name the impression she got from this house she would have said "scrubbed." There was almost a fanatical cleanliness to the whole place, and something beyond that. It was as though layers and layers had been scrubbed off everything. She could almost feel traces of scour marks on the walls and moldings, as though the entire house had been skinned and flayed, before being painted and polished. It was definitely weird. She eyed the back of Snape's enigmatic head and pondered. Questions hovered on the edge of her tongue, but she didn't ask them.

Once in the front drawing room, Snape called out a curt summons, and about six house elves popped immediately into the room. Two of the elves were very elderly, one looked middle-aged, two others appeared in their prime, and there was one elf child. All of them looked happily, eagerly expectant. Hermione couldn't help but compare them to Serius Black's Kreacher. It was a night and day difference.

Snape put a hand behind her back, guided her forward, and addressed the elves. "This is Hermione Snape. She is my wife and she is your new mistress."

The instant change in the elves was electrifying. They lit up like Christmas trees. Where their expressions had been cheerfully servile, they now appeared ecstatic. Each one beamed in joyful, exuberant adoration at Hermione as though she were an angel, a goddess, or some sort of hero/savior. Hermione was a little taken back. She hadn't expected a reaction like this. They were gazing at her as though she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to them.

"Hold out your hand, Hermione. They have to swear fealty to you."

Hermione reached out a tentative hand, and each elf took it and told her it's name. They bowed over her fingers reverently as though they were kissing an icon. After they had all completed this ritual, they bowed as a group and made their exit, giving her worshipful backward glances like little pilgrims who had just seen a vision. Snape had a bemused, yet rather unreadable expression. Very soon after that, she and her husband returned to Hogwarts.

The suite of dungeon rooms that was the Snape home at Hogwarts seemed dim and gloomy after the day spent at the Manor. Hermione couldn't understand why they didn't stay there overnight. It was a Saturday and neither had classes in the morning, and, after all, they had already used the bed! It was almost as if her husband disliked the place and only went there when he had to. Perhaps he had only gone there today to show it to her, but why? Was it simply for that bizarre elf ritual? Hermione didn't like the idea of owning those elves. Their worshipful attitude towards her, while flattering, was unnatural.

And what about that weird impression she had gotten from the Manor, the feeling that there were secrets that had been scoured, even gouged out of the house, secrets that had been purged so completely that there was nothing left of them but empty, bare walls? Severus Snape seemed the embodiment of secrets. She looked covertly over at him.

"Oh, by the way. Don't even think about freeing my elves," he said, as he scratched his quill across some poor student's essay. She could only imagine what scathing comments were appearing there in his spidery handwriting. "They are obviously happy. Freeing them would not be kind."

Hermione found her tongue. Elf rights was familiar ground. "That's only because they don't understand, "she said reasonably. "They've been brainwashed all their lives to think they're happy."

Snape put the quill down and looked at her. "Actually, Hermione, it is you who do not understand."

"I'm surprised at you, Severus, really, I am! You have all those books on Philosophy, higher thinking, and enlightenment. I don't know why you still condone the enslavement of our fellow creatures! It's criminal to enslave an entire race of beings, to treat them as if their lives and feelings didn't matter, to treat them as inferiors just because they are different from us. One doesn't have to be human to have human rights!

"Listen to yourself, Hermione. That doesn't make sense."

"Yes, it does!"

"Human rights pertain to humans. Elf rights pertain to elves, and they are not the same. Elves do not want the same things that humans do. They do not think and feel as we do because they are different. No matter how much you try, you cannot change them from what they are. You cannot make them something they are not. A dog cannot reason like a cat, nor the other way around. Elves do not wish freedom."

"What about Dobby? He was glad to be freed!"

"I would be too, if Malfoy owned me," growled Snape. "And look what he's doing with his freedom. He's still working. And have you noticed Winkie? After three years of freedom, she's still pining. She won't last another three years, believe me. The kindest thing you could do for her, Hermione, would be to find her a new master to swear to, not lecture her on how much she should love freedom. She cannot change any more than a cat can become a herd animal, or a dog an antisocial one."

"But surely you can see that Dobby represents an evolutionary change." she almost pleaded.

"Evolution happens very slowly. Very few elves are unhappy in their servitude. Yes, there are wizards who abuse them. I do not. The wizard-elf relationship is a symbiosis, not a tyranny."

"How do you know that if you haven't even given them a choice!" she countered righteously.

"Would it interest you to know that I've done that?" He looked at her startled expression levelly. "I did, Hermione. When I inherited the Manor, I gave each elf the choice of freedom, or complete loyalty to me and my policies. Now, I didn't do this out of any misguided ideas of elf rights. I simply wanted to ensure complete, unwavering cooperation. None of them chose freedom. They _are HAPPY_."

"Well, they seem almost too happy. It's not natural," was her mutinous reply.

"That is the way house elves _are_. Forget the idea of tyranny and think symbiosis. They need us as much as we need them. We give them purpose and they take care of us. They often feel they own _us_, by the way." Snape's dark gaze was ironic.

Hermione felt a little disgruntled that she wasn't getting anywhere in this argument. Not that anyone ever seemed to listen to her when it came to house-elves, but it irritated her that Snape's reasoning was so damnably logical. She suddenly felt a tiny bit confused.

"Think about it, Hermione."

That was a good idea. She'd think about it, and then she'd have just the right logical arguments for him later. Right now she felt too tired to spar anymore with him. All that grand passion in the middle of the day was taking it's toll. She did feel curious, however.

"How come they were so extra happy to meet me? They seemed gladder to see me than they were to see you."

Her husband's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, _that_. That should be obvious, Hermione. They are hoping for increase. Marriage means babies and they can hardly wait for you to become pregnant. In fact, they've been watching for me to bring home a bride for years. Since I'm rarely ever at the Manor, they have little to do. A bunch of little Snape children running about the place would seem like paradise to them."

Hermione gaped and he smirked harder. "It's a good thing my elves know nothing of Muggle contraception, or I'd advise you to carefully guard your supply of pills. If they knew what those pills did, they might substitute with some artful little lumps of colored sugar, and they'd actually feel they were acting in _your_ best interest."

Her best interest indeed! Hermione shook her head silently. So they had been waiting and watching for him to bring home a wife. She remembered the sensation of being watched as she moved through the house. The elves had been wondering if she was the bride they were waiting for. Then, suddenly, a horrific idea came to her.

"Severus! You don't think they were watching us when we were..."

Snape's face froze in startled amazement. He made a grimace of suppressed mirth and rolled his eyes as if praying for patience."Merlin's Wand, Hermione! Elves don't do that, child. Their strict code of etiquette forbids that sort of trespass."Then his eyes gleamed mockingly at her sigh of relief. "But I'm sure they had their eager little ears pressed tight to the walls...and the keyhole as well."

Her sputter of outrage only earned her another smirk.


	10. The Long Arm of Darkness

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

Author's note: _I am sorry it has taken me so long to get back to this story. Circumstances beyond my control this summer kept me from having the time to do anything meaningful on my computer. Thankfully, I now have some time to get back to my writing. This story is now AU, due to the publication of the HBP, but I'm writing it anyway. I have a feeling AU will be the most attractive genre for my efforts..._

WARNING! This chapter contains an incident of domestic violence. There is also reference to child abuse. None of these incidents are graphically described but some readers may be offended.

**Chapter 10: _The Long Arm of Darkness_**

Hermione removed the books from the shelves one by one and examined them curiously. She had a lot of free time today and she had decided to make good use of it. Lately, she had been finding herself spending more and more time in Snape's rooms--her rooms now too, she reminded herself--rather than in the Gryffindor Common room. She was beginning to feel more comfortable here in the scholarly stillness than she did in the crowded noise of Gryffindor Tower, and there were times she was just tired of the awkwardness that never seemed to dissipate between herself and the other students since her marriage to Professor Snape. Here, she could pour unmolested over Most Potente Potions to her heart's content and examine many of the other fascinating books.

Snape's collection was incredible and there were more books here than she had originally believed. Hermione had very recently made a startling discovery. There was another layer of volumes behind the ones that she could see, cunningly hidden behind a false backing, and behind this layer, there was another... It was this cache of concealed books that she was determined to peruse today. Why would Severus hide them this way? There were so many mysteries that seemed to surround her secretive husband and she couldn't help wanting to investigate, especially now when he was safely busy in class.

Many of these books were extremely old. She remembered Harry's comment concerning Snape having books of dark spells. Some of these tomes had a sinister look. Hermione had never actually looked at a book of dark magic and she was very curious. The Library at Hogwarts had a Restricted Section, but students needed a pass from a teacher to get into it, and the Librarian herself actually found the books the students needed. Besides, the bulk of the restricted books were only _about _dark magic, they didn't contain dark spells themselves.

Hermione began to go through the hidden volumes one by one. Most had nothing offensive about them at all, but some had skulls or other nasty looking drawings on their covers. She picked up One Thousand Uses for Human Bones but put it down with a shudder. The dark green text marked Poison Primer she also avoided. Goblin Blood and Toadstools looked equally vile. What sort of wizards really liked this sort of thing?

After passing by a dozen or so rank, unpleasant volumes, a book with a dusky red cover caught her eye. The cover had a picture of a woman's face on it, an imperiously beautiful face. Hermione took it to the table and opened it up. The title appeared to be Forever Faire, and there was a handwritten inscription in the lower inner corner.

_To Lucrecia Bond Snape on the occasion of her wedding. May it bring you as much benefit as it has us._

_Solara Snape Malfoy, and Corinthia Gaunt Snape_

It appeared to be a witch's beauty manual. In it were potions to enhance attraction, prolong youth, reshape the face and body, and even give the user a stronger sexual appetite. They were bizarre, horrible potions that called for various human body parts as ingredients. Hermione came across references to "bereavement tears" and "torture sweat." One mixture called for the sacrifice of a virgin during its stirring. Another called for a drop of breast milk from the mother of a murdered child. One recipe that promised to erase the fine lines of aging called for bathing in a potion made from large quantities of human blood. There were illustrations showing the best ways to kill the victims and collect that blood.

Hermione felt sick with revulsion but continued to turn the pages. When she came upon some graphic illustrations showing the exact method of vivisecting live human infants, she dropped the book with a resounding "thunk" and rushed speedily to the bathroom to vomit.

She retched miserably for what seemed like an eternity, loosing the entire contents of her hearty lunch and then began working on dredging up her breakfast as well. She was still hunched over the commode, white faced and trembling, waiting for the next wave of nausea to hit her, when Snape found her. He strode up to her, and after a quick check to make sure she wasn't really hurt, glared at her furiously. Hermione noticed he was shaking.

"A fitting punishment!" he began in a tight, savage, almost whispering voice. "This is what you deserve for snooping about in dark spell books! I would have thought you'd know better! Do I have to put a binding hex on my library to keep you out of it? Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione, and sometimes that cat dies very painfully!"

"Why do you _have_ books like that?" she shouted, glaring at up him through stringy wisps of sweat-sodden hair. "Why do you keep them here?"

"Because they are safer with me than in the hands of someone who might actually _use_ them! And they are safest here in this school where they are protected from theft by dark wizards! All the faculty have collections of them, and they're not meant for impressionableyoung witches to go poking through! Although I should have been watching you. I should have known your silly Gryffindor courage would lead you to recklessness--"

"Oh, I don't care what you think of me. I don't care!" Hermione sobbed miserably, tears mingling with the other filth on her face and hair. She could still see the pictures in her mind's eye. They had been so horrifically detailed down to the expressions of innocent fear and pain on those poor babies' faces. "Those books shouldn't be here!" she whispered through her tears. "They should be destroyed!"

A wave of sickness assaulted her again and she turned back to the commode. She gasped a moment later as a cold wet towel was suddenly thrust against her face.

"Hold still, Hermione," Snape ordered. "Hold still and breathe deeply."

She struggled against the facecloth for a few seconds, trying to stifle her harsh sobs, trying to breathe.

"I said _hold still_! Concentrate on the cold. Just the cold."

Hermione did. The icy wetness of the towel was a little bracing and it did seem to cut through some of the fog of sickness and horror. She wrenched it out of his hand, though, ashamed that she should be crying in front of him and that he should treat her like a child. She wasn't a child! She was eighteen years old, she had fought deatheaters in the war, and she was a wife now--not a babyish student. She gave her husband a furtive sidelong glance and noticed a flash of approval on his face, a grudging hint of respect for her independence. Why that should give her strength, she had no idea, but it did.

She sat shakily into a chair and blotted the tears and other filth from her face with the cold damp towel. The coolness was comforting. It made her think of snow, of whiteness and purity. She looked up as Snape approached her again. He had a potion cup in his hand.

"Drink this." he ordered quietly. "It will combat nausea and calm the nerves."

She took it and sipped it wordlessly.

"Why don't you destroy those books?" she asked stonily after she handed him back the cup.

Snape's eyes were hard as they met her unwaveringly. "They are dark-spelled, Hermione. Getting rid of them would not be an easy thing. Any successful attempt to destroy a dark-spelled book will usually kill the wizard doing it. While there are wizards strong enough to battle one and live, wizards like Albus Dumbledore, I am certainly not one of them." He looked at her sternly. "And neither are you! So don't try it, please." She nodded.

"And perhaps it would be a good idea to ask me about any book you are interested in reading. I can tell you whether or not it will be good for you."

"I'm not a child," she said stubbornly.

"That's debatable," he groused, meeting her mutinous eyes squarely. "You're still innocent, Hermione, and this type of innocence shouldn't be lost."

Part of her bristled at his patronizing suggestion, that he didn't believe she could handle the fruits of the Tree of Knowledge without his help. The other part of her wished fervently that she had never, _ever_ opened that book! She had always been cursed with curiosity, with a driving insatiable inquisitiveness. That curiosity pricked at her even now.

Severus," she began, "there was an inscription inside the cover, to a Lucretia at her marriage."

"My mother. The book was a gift for her at her wedding."

"Was your mother a dark witch?" It was a whispered question.

"NO." The answer was harsh and abrupt. Then he paused and his expression became ruefully thoughtful. "I expect her reaction upon reading it would have been very much like your own."

"Is your mother still alive?"

"No, she died when I was six."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione automatically.

"Don't be. Her hell ended when she died," said Severus. "Some of the rest of us weren't so fortunate. How are you feeling?"

"Better," she said. The potion really had managed to still her raging stomach and the surge of hysteria seemed to have dissipated. But not her curiosity.

"Severus?" she began again. His sharp glance was wary. "If your mother is dead, do you have any other family still living?" Snape looked at her stonily and Hermione stifled a shudder. "They'd be my in-laws now," she whispered.

"You needn't worry, child. You have no in-laws. They're all dead. Every single one." His voice was grimly harsh. "They were all dark wizards. They all supported the Dark lord and they all died in the Aurors' purgings. I made sure of that!" Black eyes met hers in bleak irony.

"Oh." There was a tinge of pathos about his countenance, a hint of vulnerability amid the darkness of his expression, that gave Hermione the strange impulse to hug him. She didn't though. She felt she needed a hug far more than he did, a tangible form of affection she knew he wouldn't give. All he did was touch her stiffly on the shoulder, a mere ghost of a comfort.

Crookshanks jumped into her lap just then and purred loudly, round eyes glaring balefully at the hated master of his new domain.

Snape withdrew his hand and muttered, "I have no idea why you tolerate that mangy, miserable fleabag!" He took the empty potion cup and left her to hug her cat in silence.

Severus stalked hurriedly to his office, more shaken than he would ever want to let on. How had she found them, and how had she done it so quickly? This was just the sort of thing he had never meant to let happen. He locked his office door and slumped darkly into his chair, wishing fervently he had a cup of coffee or a decent potion to steady his nerves.

Those books had been well hidden. The false backings he had made for his bookcase had been carefully, soundly constructed. True, they weren't as protective as a good binding hex, but hexes like that had a way of advertising themselves. Magic was always detectable to a talented mage. Artful concealment had seemed a much better course of action. But somehow his very precocious child-bride had managed to make hash of his effort at camouflage and poke her nose into things that were not good for her.

He had grossly underestimated Hermione, something, it seemed, he had always done. No other student would have found those books in a million years. Of course, given the average student's aversion to the printed word, ninety-nine out of a hundred wouldn't have approached the shelf at all. He had known his wife was addicted to reading, but he had innocently believed that the wealth of fascinating volumes visible to casual observation would have been enough to keep and hold her attention, probably for the duration of their marriage. He really should have known better.

It had been Hermione, little Miss Know-it-all Granger, who had done the real sleuth and research work for Potter's trio of mischief and mayhem. Her tenacious curiosity, and her Gryffindor recklessness were a lethal combination. While her inquisitive nature was part of what made her such a good student, it had also put her in deadly danger more than once. And now, it seemed, she was focussing some of that curiosity on him... It was just what he didn't want her to do.

He clenched his fingers in impotent frustration. He hated the thought of her rummaging blithely through those dusty volumes of ancient evil, like a little girl browsing through a poisoned candy shop. How long had this been going on? It couldn't have been that long, he reasoned, since it was only today that he had found her sick to her gut over some horror she had stumbled upon. There were plenty of other books, just as bad or worse, that she obviously hadn't opened. After this afternoon's experience, hopefully she wouldn't try to, yet Severus knew the ways of curiosity. Once her shock wore off, the temptation to have just one more peek might prove too strong for her.

Perhaps he should cast a binding hex after all. It was his responsibility to keep her safe, to protect her, and he had failed. Maybe if he had warded his library well enough in the first place this would never have happened. But then, of course, Hermione would have detected his wards and wondered why they were there... Perhaps nothing he could have done would have prevented Pandora's box of books from being opened. Severus ground his teeth. It always seemed, all his life, that there was nothing he could have done, when possibly there was.

Snape stared at the cold empty fireplace. Why did it have to be _that _book that she had found first? It was one of the worst ones he had, one of the most pernicious examples of dark magic he knew of, and it's use had run deep within the Snape family for generations. And it was a witch's book, not a wizard's book, and proof positive that the female of the species could be just as diabolically cruel, just as deadly, if not more so, than the male.

His Aunts, whose signatures adorned the front cover of that book, were people whose memory he conscientiously shied away from. Aside from his father, they had been the most terrifying individuals he had known as a child. All those Muggle fairy tales featuring witches who lured children into candy houses in order to kill and eat them had their bases in fact. Except that the witches in question weren't old and ugly, they were villainously beautiful.

At least Hermione hadn't asked any questions about them. Questioning him about his mother had been bad enough. _"Was your mother a dark witch?" _He didn't want to talk about his mother, or his father, or any other member of his family. He went out of his way to never, ever, think about them. The past was over. No good whatsoever could come from examining it, and he wouldn't. The victims were finally free and the perpetrators of evil were surely slow roasting in whatever celestial realm vile creatures like them ended up after death. He had buried the past, turned his back on it, and erased all traces of it that he could find. The dead were dead. Let them stay that way.

But the memory of Hermione bent wretchedly over the commode set Severus wondering, no matter how he tried to stop it, if poor Lucretia Bond Snape had done the same. Was it then that she had realized what sort of hellish family she had been sold into? Had she had any warning beforehand? Did they immediately punish her for what they saw as weakness? How long had it taken for the serious young girl she had been to turn into the crushed woman with the sad, frightened eyes he known as a child?

Perhaps it would have been easier for his poor mother had she been a dark witch, or if she had allowed herself to be drawn into dark magic as her son later had been. But she never did. He, Severus, had allowed himself to be sucked into it, had actually rushed into it with foolish headlong impetuousness. He had done so out of hatred and a lust for revenge. Hatred and revenge have an affinity with darkness, and the young Snape had found himself drowning in it. _"Stay alive, Severus! Do what you have to do to stay alive, but don't be like them. Don't let them make you be like them!"_ He hadn't listened.

He had joined the Dark lord and had become a deatheater because it had seemed the surest way to strength and power. It had seemed the surest way to triumph over everyone who had ever hurt him, not only his family, but everyone who had slighted him or looked down at him, everyone who had made his life a hell at home and at school. He had also seen it as the only way to protect himself and those he might care about.

But he had embraced darkness only to find that his reward was only deeper darkness. He had realized, almost too late, that the way to overcome horror was not to become the horror itself. His escape had been extremely narrow, that is if he had really escaped at all. He was still escaping, trying to wash the blood from his hands and still seeing the stains deeply embedded in them. If he could, if he could find a way, he would destroy every one of those deadly dark-spelled volumes and scrub away all the evil they contained. But even if he could do so, it wouldn't erase the past.

Severus sighed and continued to stare at the fire grate's empty ashes. What stabbed at him painfully now was the way he had treated Hermione. She had needed comfort and he hadn't been able to give it. Instead, he had shouted at her. He had railed at her for her impetuous curiosity, and vented his rage at her--rage at his own shortsightedness, rage at his own guilt, and he had done nothing to help her, to soothe her wounded spirit. True, she had been foolish, and he had always favored the tough approach with silly, foolish students, but she wasn't a student anymore. She was his wife, and he loved her.

He loved her, yet he had given her no comfort. Her cat had done better than he had. All he had done was to stand, stiff and utterly ineffectual in the presence of her misery, giving her only an awkward touch on the back of the shoulder because he didn't know what else to do. He had no idea how to give comfort to anyone because he had never received comfort himself.

But no, that wasn't really true, was it? He recoiled, almost physically, from the painful recollections that threatened at the back of his mind. Before he could stop them, memories began oozing into his thoughts like matter from septic suppurating wounds. _His mother holding him when he was small, almost too small to now remember it, holding him, singing to him, crying over his hurts... _Severus shivered and pushed the memories violently away, shivered from the sense of still haunting guilt.

Guilt had been the price of his comfort. Frightened and cowed though she was, his mother had always been his champion, and every time she had been caught doing so, she had been severely, painfully punished. She had defended him and protected him no matter how sadistically she was treated in retaliation for it. It was he, or rather, the boy he had once been, who had quickly learned to hide his hurts and his sorrows so as not to cause his mother further pain, or himself further guilt. The other tortures he had to endure were bad enough...

Snape swiftly and relentlessly schooled his thoughts into safer directions. He resolutely shoved the past back behind the barriers he had constructed for it, the walls that had contained it for years. He wouldn't look at it. No one could force him to look at it. It was over and done with and it couldn't touch him anymore.

For Hermione, the rest of the day, and the evening as well, passed in a strained silence. Severus said almost nothing to her or kept himself absent from their suite of rooms. She had no idea whether it was just her trespass into forbidden territory that upset him, or if there was something more that was angering him. She honestly wished he would communicate with her, talk to her about it, but she realized she was asking for miracles here. He was a man, number one, and he was Snape. End of story. Yet he had let slip some very important things about his family, or his lack of family. It opened vistas of understanding him. They were dark vistas, of course, but Hermione couldn't help her curiosity. She wanted to plumb those depths, to explore the secrets of his past, to help him, possibly. If only he would let her.

She took a long leisurely shower that made her feel almost clean and ate a spare dinner in their study. She and Severus went to bed but did little more than just touch briefly before going to sleep, and for once Hermione was truly grateful to forgo the act of consummation.

Somewhere in the still hours of very early morning, Hermione was awakened by a commotion from her husband's side of the bed. He was having a nightmare, a horrifically terrible one by the look of it. He was shaking violently, thrashing about, gasping and moaning like a soul in torment.

"Stop it! STOP! No...don't..."

"Severus! Wake up!" she shook him urgently. "Wake up, Severus. Please, you're having a bad dream!"

It took a few minutes to actually wake him, and when she did, he stared at her wildly, gripping her arms, her hands, any part of her he could reach, like a drowning man grasping for a life preserver. His chest heaved as though he had been running. Cold sweat oozed from his forehead and poured from the rest of his body, making his nightshirt cling to him in patches. An almost tangible aura of horror radiated from him.

Hermione crooned softly to him and caressed him soothingly. "It's OK, Severus. It's all right..." she began, but her sentence was cut short as he pulled her to him in a hard, tight embrace, arms like iron bands clutching her against him, savage lips connecting with hers as though he would devour her. He strained her to him, his mouth bruising hers, and rolled on top of her, frantic hands pulling at their nightclothes.

After having just been dragged out of a sound sleep, the last thing Hermione wanted at that moment was sex, but she accommodated him. She did so instinctively because of the horror she had heard in his voice, and the sense of overwhelming need that radiated from his tense, shaking body. There was no way she could help but respond to that need, to the pain he seemed to be experiencing. She honestly didn't know what else she could do.

He took her violently in a hard, insistent coupling that would have felt far worse for her if it hadn't also been so very desperate. There was a frantic quality to his wild, sobbing breathing, the pincher-like hands that clutched her, and the way in which he used her so relentlessly, as if trying with all his might to escape whatever horrors he had met in his dream with the desperate enjoyment of her body. Hermione clung to him and tried to relax as best as she could, letting him do whatever he wanted and willing it silently to be over quickly and for him to be at peace.

It seemed like ages before it was finally over and he was lying limp and almost lifeless on the bed beside her, lost in the depths of sleep, one arm thrown over her like a predator protecting his kill. Hermione lay shell-shocked and unmoving for a long time afterward. She felt sore and bruised, and she felt violated too, even though she had made no effort to stop him in any way. She knew he had been completely out of control with some misery that she didn't understand. He had been beyond the realms of reason.

Shefelt stunned and a little bewildered. It was an anticlimactic feeling, as though she had just survived an earthquake, or been trapped in a swift, sudden war. There was a tragic quality, too, to this feeling. It was as if she and Severus had been caught up in something beyond them, some horror that couldn't be named, that was threatening to destroy them. Except that it hadn't. It hadn't destroyed them, it had merely tried. That thought was the only bit of comfort she clung to as she slipped into fitful patches of broken sleep.

To be continued...

_Duj--Yes, I have read Tolkein. My reference in the last chapter was not to cast aspersions on the content of his books. The magic in those novels bears no comparison whatsoever to the magic in the Harry Potter universe. I was attempting to lampoon the Ministry of Magic. In this story, the Ministry is an obviously flawed entity. Any group that would pass the Marriage Law is imbicilic_ _at best. I can imagine a bunch of dim-witted committee members completely missing the point to The Lord of the Rings._

_Prin69--Snape often calls Hermione "child" because he is still very conscious of the differences in their ages and experience. He doesn't yet see her as his equal (although that will eventually change.) He uses this term as an endearment, usually when he feels patronizing, or when he is lecturing or teasing her and wants to emphasize his superiority. He doesn't use this term when he is amorous. When attempting seduction, he will usually call her something like "my sweet." Calling one's lover "child" doesn't seemmuch more objectionable that calling them "baby" or "babe." I have come across relationships where lovers used far worse. Please believe me, I was not trying to make Severus appear as a pedophiliac!_


	11. A touch of Healing

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates

Author's Note: _Thank you for bearing with me as this story seems to be taking a darker turn. It could be the somber influence of the HBP, even though this story is now AU. In all lives there are darknesses of many kinds, as well as the healing blessings that come from the Light. In marriages it is very much the same. The concept of marriage, in and of itself, is a difficult one-- two individuals sharing all things and becoming one entity. Half of all love-based unions crumble, and the forces arrayed against successful marriages are legion. Considering the human condition, it is a wonder ANY marriage survives. I think it takes more than love to sustain a marriage. It takes a monumental force of will, a lot of strength, and a lot of forgiveness. _

_This story is about a marriage of convenience between two very different people who have some very deep issues. Snape has the darkest of emotional baggage, but he also has the love. Hermione will also be shown ( I have given hints already) of having some painful issues of her own. In order for them to begin to at least be friends, they will have to come to grips with their own and each others problems. This happens slowly, and sometimes painfully, but in a marriage sometimes it takes passing through some difficult times to reach greater intimacy. _

**Chapter 11: _A Touch of Healing_**

Severus had about two seconds upon waking before a crushing sense of doom fell upon him. He had done something last night, something terrible, perhaps unforgivable, and he had done it to his poor wife whom he loved. Snape's mind struggled desperately for a moment with the hope of denial. Perhaps it hadn't happened after all. Perhaps it was all part of that dream... But he knew it wasn't. He could remember his nightmare, and he could remember its aftermath, and he knew the difference between fantasy and reality. He also knew that last night, for a short period of time, he hadn't been quite sane.

How could he have done that? How could that have happened? How could he have been so completely out of control? Severus felt sick to his gut with horror and miserable, soul-constricting self hatred. If he could have shriveled himself to dust and simply blown himself away, he would have. But he knew that no such escape was in store for him. He would have to face what he had done. He would have to face _her. _He would have to stand up to Hermione's anger and contempt, her shrinking revulsion, her righteous condemnation. Or worse still, he would be forced to behold her fear and loathing of him, her profound disappointed hurt. His mother's sad, frightened face swam into his mind and he knew death would be preferable to that. He felt his wife stir beside him and waited miserably.

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Hermione felt, upon waking, that the strain between them was thick enough to cut with an ax. Severus lay still next to her. She couldn't tell if he was awake or sleeping and she had no intention, just then, of trying to arouse him to find out. She slipped out of bed carefully. She still felt a little sore, but she didn't want to advertise that fact to Snape so she grabbed a jar of Quick Healing Salve and took it into the bathroom with her. She would have to deal with her husband a little later. How she was going to do that, she really didn't know.

What was she going to say to Severus? What was she going to do? Hermone knew that she wasn't up to confronting him or reproaching him. She felt that he had been as much a victim as she had, and she wondered, in the back of her mind, if she had been part of the cause of it all by prying into that horrible, evil book. That book seemed to have called forth some dark memory in him, some memory that tortured him. Hermione knew he had to have a host of dark memories. He had been a deatheater once, and he had all but told her that his childhood was hell. Who knew what he had seen or done, or what had been done to him since the beginning of his life, that would well up like poisonous springs and cause him to relive them in nightmares.

At this point, Hermone didn't think she could even bring up what had happened. She didn't know how. Severus Snape had always seemed to be so strong-- so rigidly in control, and tightly armored. But last night she had seen that armor crumble. She had gotten a glimpse of the broken man beneath that armor, a fragile damaged person. To stand in judgment on that vulnerable person seemed to her to be the height of cruelty, and despite the awfulness of last night, she didn't have the heart to do it. Besides, she also sensed that it would do her far more harm than good. Last night, he had been in pain and had reacted like a wounded animal. And like a wounded animal, if prodded, he would retreat behind that armor again and set his face against her, defensive and bitter. Snape was a private, sensitive man. The last thing he would want was for anyone, least of all her, to see his vulnerability.

He was proud. But pride, in this case, was actually a good quality. Hermione understood this kind of pride, the contrary belligerent sort of resiliency that made one rise up, again and again, after falling; the sort of strength that kept ones head high in the face of ridicule and pain, that made one smile and pretend confidence when one was inwardly withering. It was the driving force that kept one going in spite of the odds, that made one succeed. It was the sort of strength and determination that had made Severus the formidable wizard that he was, no matter what horrors lay in his past. It was perhaps all that was holding him together now...

Would he resent her for seeing his weakness? Would he be embittered against her? Would what little there was of their relationship turn as cold as glacial ice? Hermione felt herself shivering already. Lately, things had been going rather well between herself and Severus. It had almost seemed as though they might someday become friends. Sure, conversation was still a little stiff, but there _had _been some conversation! What would happen now? Would he go back to the cold, dismissive way he used to treat her when she was his student? Would he hate her? Hermione didn't want to imagine the way married life would be if he did, the days upon days of coldness and complete rejection. She didn't want to think of the Severus that she was beginning to know turning away from her.

She would somehow have to match his pride. She couldn't storm and whine and carp at him for something that had seemed beyond his control. She couldn't point out his weakness. The only possible way she could think of to preserve his dignity ( as well as hers) was to do the best she could to maintain normalcy-- to act as though nothing had happened. He would hate her otherwise, and Hermione didn't think she could live with his hatred for long and survive, no matter how much pride she had. Just the thought of it made her feel sick. She took a deep, cleansing breath, dried the remnants of her tears, finished her morning wash-up, and went out of the bathroom to face him.

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Severus sipped his coffee in an absent, ruminative state, his untouched plate of food growing cold in front of him, and cast furtive, pensive looks at his wife who was sitting with friends at the Gryffindor table and nodding seriously at whatever inane attempts at conversation they were making. He put his cup down and picked at his food, but made no attempt to actually eat any of it. The churning turmoil in his stomach made the thought of eating, ever again, an uncertain prospect. It was only by a tremendous force of will that he was actually sitting at his place at the head table, back straight and quietly regal. It was an act he had honed to a fine art over the years. No one noticed the trembling of the hand that reached again for his coffee. No one but Dumbledor, of course.

"Are you all right, Severus? You seem to be off your food, this morning. I hope you're not unwell."

Snape would have prayed for patience had he any idea where to direct the prayer. "Only a little gastric upset, Albus. That is all." His tone was wintery and he hoped it would dissuade further comment. Thankfully, the headmaster was distracted by a question from someone on his other side and Snape was left to his own dark cogitations again.

He just didn't understand it. He didn't understand it at all. He had expected tears and recriminations, angry words and scornful scolding. She should at least have presented him with a resentful, withering glare and a disdainful cold shoulder ( if not a zap in the balls,) but Hermione hadn't treated him in any of those ways-- and she should have. He deserved it.

True, she had seemed more shy than ever in his presence that morning, but then, she was always rather reserved with him. She was always respectful and cautious when she spoke to him, as though he was a monster that could strike without warning at any moment. _And he had proved her right, hadn't he_, he thought to himself bitterly. He had acted like a monster, taking her as savagely as he had last night. It would serve him right if she shrank from him in fear.

But she didn't actually seem frightened of him, merely cautious, uncertain. And she didn't honestly seem to hate him either-- and she should, after treatment like that. There was no withdrawal in anger or disgust, merely a sort of... awkwardness. Snape knew, as well, that there was no cowed submission in that awkwardness. She wasn't a victim with bowed head resigned to bad treatment. Hermione was a little spitfire. She hadn't put up with the way he had bullied her on the second day of their marriage, and had stood up for herself countless times during the little altercations they had had in the settling in of their life together. There were so many times she hadn't backed down, had given as good as she got when he had attacked her with sarcasm or ordered her about, and had proven herself-- as young as she was-- to at least have the potential to be his equal.

Why had she put up with his unconscionable behavior? Why was she _still_ doing it? He didn't have to think too hard to find the answer. It was her kindness, of course. Hermione had known he was hurting and had wanted to help him. She had let him do whatever he wanted with her because she had sensed his need. His next gulp of coffee bruised him painfully as it went down. She had been kind to him and he had treated her terribly, and afterwards, to spare his feelings, she had tried to smile it off the next morning. It had been a tight, almost bewildered smile, as though she wasn't sure what had just happened between them, or what she was supposed to do about it. It was HE who had to do something about it, but Severus had no idea what that could possibly be.

The logical course of action was, of course, to talk to her, to apologize. Snape's gut constricted even worse at the prospect of that. The memories his nightmare had dredged up were ones he had tried with all his strength to bury deep. He couldn't, just _couldn't _talk about them. He wasn't even sure that he could even refer to the incident without horror engulfing him, at least not right away. The words would choke themselves on his tongue if he tried. How could he make her understand that? How could he communicate to her what had happened to him and how deeply sorry and ashamed that he was?

Why had he ever thought he could take her as a wife? Surely he could have found a better solution for her than marriage to himself! But he had been selfish. He wanted her. He would always want her. Years upon years after the Law was repealed, and she was finally free of him, he would want her still...

Snape managed to keep up the Grand Act through his next classes. His continual presentation of the Bastard Snape persona, the illusion of the man of stone-- the most formidable teacher in the entire school, was almost automatic for him. All he had to do was sweep into class, sneer a little, and give curt, cold instructions, and then hover over the progress of his students like the old bat they all thought he was. This time, however, he found it difficult to take out his bitterness and despair on his captive victims. To do that would only emphasize the monstrousness he wished to deny. He seemed to see Hermione in the face of every student.

And memories assaulted him continually-- not only the details of his last nights' shameful weakness, but recollections from the long past-- memories he had thought were safely locked so securely in the dungeon compartments of his mind that they could never hurt him again. He had worked hard to put and keep them there. He had believed in his victory. How had it happened that the long arm of darkness had reached from the far dead past to put its foul, icy touch in their lives?

Severus did his best to suppress a shiver. It had been so unexpected. He hadn't had a nightmare like that in years, and had believed himself safe. He had believed he could keep Hermione safe too. At least, he thought, it hadn't been worse. He hadn't beaten or killed her-- only forced himself on her, but that, of course, was a moot point. He shouldn't have done that at all! He wondered, now, if burying and suppressing his memories so thoroughly and ruthlessly hadn't made their release more dangerous. He wondered if, instead, he would have to somehow probe his past and confront them in some way. Despair assaulted him. He had thought that time of torture was over.

He brooded through his classroom duties and through the mid day meal. A few puzzled looks had been thrown his way, as he had been uncharacteristically lax in handing out punishments. The day was already half over and he had removed almost no house points and had given no detentions. He was too preoccupied to see them, because the only looks he had noticed at all had been the quick, troubled glances his wife had flashed at him during lunch.

There was tentative concern in the looks she was giving him, a shy, sort of inquiring worry. It certainly wasn't love that he read in her eyes, before she quickly averted them, but it was caring. Snape knew Hermione didn't love him. He knew she would never love him, but she seemed to feel concern for him as a person, as a human being. She was worried about his needs and his hurts, as well as how those needs affected her. Snape normally disdained being the object of people's compassion or pity. He went out of his way to throw it back in their faces and to push them away. But this totally undeserved kindness touched him deeply. If he had ever loved Hermione before, he loved her exponentially now.

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Hermione sat in the stands of the Quiddich pitch, watching the Gryffindor team practice, and carefully balancing an open textbook on her lap. It was a fine, bright afternoon, unseasonably warm for late autumn, and most of her house seemed to be enjoying the good weather by gathering in the stands. A cheer from the nearby students made her look up from the book she was studying. Ron seemed to have made some sort of spectacular save again. She waved at him, hoping he hadn't noticed that she hadn't actually been watching.

The careful smile she flashed at him and the other players was getting harder and harder to maintain. As the day went by, the strain she was under only seemed to get worse and worse. The hours, minutes, and seconds were marching inexorably onward, and the time was fast approaching when she would come face to face with Severus again-- face to face to an uncertain outcome that she wasn't sure she would be able to handle. It was one thing to resolve in the stunned aftermath of morning to keep her cool and maintain her calm. It was another matter entirely to have to keep doing it-- on and on, hour after hour, perhaps day after day, with no idea when-- if ever-- it would end. Even now, little surges of hysteria flared sharply up within her, and there were dangerous moments when she was afraid she might begin crying in front of all these happy, oblivious people. That was something she knew she mustn't do.

More cheering erupted around her. Harry had just caught the snitch.

"That was stupendous! Wasn't it?" Parvati exulted next to her. "Ravenclaw doesn't stand a chance on Saturday! We're sure to win!"

"Cup winners again!" squealed Lavender in triumph. "Three years in a row!" She looked slyly over a Hermione before asking her, "How did Snape take it when Slytherin lost to us that first game?"

"Yeah, was he mad? Did you have to... _console_ him real hard that night?" Parvati grinned wickedly before noticing Hermione's sudden horrified expression. "Oh, don't worry! We're not going to ask about your sex life. We know S-e-v-e-r-u-s doesn't like that! Still," she added, "it must be nice to be married and get to have sex any time you want."

"Real nice," agreed Lavender with a wistful sigh. "I could sure do with a little tumble right about now." She followed Ron's flying figure with a speculative gaze.

Hermione's throat constricted painfully as she fought off a wave of jealousy. Ron Weasley would never be hers now. Even when the Marriage Law was finally repealed, things would never go back to what they once were. Events in her life would have been disrupted beyond all hope of that. Even if, years from now, she and Ron did end up together, it would still never be the same. It was tragic to think of the innocent, youthful relationship she had once confidently expected that would now never be. All that was left to her now was Snape, and the difficulties that entailed were getting harder and harder to bear.

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Severus watched his wife covertly throughout dinner in the Great Hall. Meals were the only times he had seen her all day, as she seemed to be completely shunning their rooms. She looked tired and tense to the point of tears. Her eyes had dark smudges beneath them as though she had endured hours of torture and nights without sleep.

He had done that to her. She probably hadn't slept at all after the way he had treated her. She had probably lain sleepless and miserable next to his snoring form until the coming of morning, hurting, stunned, and possibly horrified-- and completely alone in her misery. Severus could tell she had spoken to no one about their difficulties, and, of course, nobody noticed her looking off-color in any way. No one ever did.

Waves of tenderness flooded him whenever he looked at her. She deserved far better than to be shackled to someone like him-- a jaded ex-deatheater with a past from hell. He wished he could tell her that. He wished he could tell her that he loved her, but the proper time to have informed her of that was in the beginning, not now after he had wronged her. How would she be expected to believe it? And if she did, would she only feel some sort of guilty obligation toward him out of morbid pity?

If only he could do something to make up for the horror he had inflicted upon her. He knew there were no words he was capable of speaking that would do that. Beads of cold sweat inched their way through his hair and trickled down his back at the thought of having to talk about it. He was going to have to find a way to confront his past, to face the horrors he had tried to bury, but it surely wasn't going to happen today! What could he possibly say or do that would make Hermione see that he was sorry?

Snape had been a loner all his life. He had never been gifted at relationships of any kind-- especially romantic relationships. He was abysmal at dealing with women in any other way except the physical. He knew the only skill he possessed with women was sexual, and the reason he had practiced and honed that skill over the years was for want of any better option. Perhaps if he could get Hermione into his arms, he could counteract some of the worst effects of the trauma he had inflicted on her, but he couldn't see how he was going to get her there... She wouldn't want to come anywhere near him-- and he certainly didn't blame her! And he didn't want her to submit to him against her will out of some twisted sense of duty either. If only he could think of some non threatening way to get her to allow him to touch her. He began to wrack his brain to think of it.

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Hermione sat hunched over her homework. She had long since finished it, but she pretended to go over it again and again. Severus hadn't spoken to her in all the time they had shared quarters this evening and she felt miserable with tension. How long would this strain go on? She wished he would say something to her-- anything at all. Even a argument or a fight would be better than this prolonged awkwardness. The few attempts at conversation she had begun had fallen dismally flat. She had no idea what to say to him beyond simple, banal pleasantries, but then she had never known what to say to Snape anyway. It was only the aftermath of last night that was making it immeasurably worse.

It was almost time for bed. Would they just get into bed without speaking to each other? Would he insist upon having sex? Hermione shuddered. Perhaps he would. Perhaps what happened last night didn't bother him at all She still had no idea why he had married her. It obviously wasn't love! Maybe she was just some sex object to him, someone to be used. Perhaps any feelings she might have on the subject were completely irrelevant! She felt hysteria rise bubbling from some place in her gut and made a monumental effort to keep her composure. _Wait, _she thought, _think. _Snape, whatever his many other faults might be, had never acted that way before. The bedroom, until last night, was the one place that he had always treated her with some consideration. Last night was an anomaly, something out of character.

A horrible thought struck her. Perhaps he didn't even remember it! He had just had a nightmare. It was possible that he thought the whole incident was part of a bad dream. If that was the case they would never talk about it! He would never understand what was wrong... She hoped with all her heart that wasn't the case. It couldn't be. He HAD to remember it. What, oh what, was she going to do? She heard Severus approach her and stiffened.

"If you are finished with your studies for the evening, Hermione, I would like your assistance with something."

Hermione looked up in almost relief. He had spoken to her as if they were professor and student again, not estranged spouses, not enemies. "What do you need?" she asked. She almost said, "sir."

"I have made up a batch of skin ointment for Madam Pomfrey and I need to be able to test it before delivering it to her. I have a sample of it here." He held up a little jar.

"What does it do?" she asked.

"It warms the skin and relaxes the muscles. It needs to be worked in thoroughly to do its job." His eyes were unreadable as he flicked his wand and made a massage table appear in the room. "If you will, Hermione."

She climbed up, peeled off enough of her robes so that her back would be exposed, and lay prone on the table. Snape's warm hands began to spread the ointment onto her shoulders and her neck, and his fingers began to probe for knots of stiffness.

"Merlin's eyeballs, you are tense!" he muttered as he dug gentle insistent fingertips into the base of her neck and moved them in swirling, tickling circles. "This is going to take a while... Relax, child. You are fighting me."

She did her best to try to relax, and soon, it became less and less difficult. The ointment had a spicy, herbal fragrance that began to pervade the entire room as Severus smoothed it into her back and shoulders. His magic fingers found every knot, every place of stiffness, and rubbed them away, leaving a warm, tingling sensation behind. She closed her eyes as he began to work his way down the length of her back, tentatively exulting in warmth and comfort and unguardedness. Presently, Hermione felt completely bare, as though her clothes had melted away...

"Hey!" she protested feebly, "You're squeezing my but!"

"You are tense there. How does it feel?"

"Good..." she admitted.

"Then don't complain."

Within a few minutes it became apparent that this was going to be a complete body massage. Snape applied the fragrant ointment to every part of her, her legs, her arms, her face, her hands. He tickled it into the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. He applied it to the spaces between her toes and her fingers, rubbing expertly as he went on. It was, of course, a _very_ thorough full body massage, and when he had finished, she was more blissfully relaxed than she had ever been in her life. She lay still for a few minutes, luxuriating in calmness and contemplating tranquility, before she heard her husband preparing for bed.

A stab of compulsion pricked her. Perhaps he expected something in return... But of course he did. He was a man, wasn't he? And it was really only fair. She got up and approached him.

"Um... Do you want me to...I mean, should we..."

"Come here, Hermione." His arms were held out.

She stepped into his embrace and he drew her into his lap and began to kiss her lingeringly. The softness of his lips and the gentleness of his touch seemed to melt something within her. She began to open her mouth yearningly to his, suddenly hungry for this gentleness, hungry for these deep, sucking, tongue caressing kisses. Soon they were slowly rocking in the ancient, primal dance. There was no violence whatsoever in this form of coupling, and there was a tenderness in the way he held her that almost brought tears to her eyes. After the terrible strain of last night's horror, it felt like healing-- like kindness and acceptance. It felt like love.

Hermione knew Snape couldn't possibly love her, but for these few minutes, he was sure doing his best to make it feel as though he did. This was a peace offering, a wordless olive branch, and Hermione took it, grateful for the estrangement to be over, grateful to at least be on positive terms with him again. Afterwards, he drew her against him in a warm, possessive cuddle.

"Goodnight Mrs. Snape," he murmured, his voice a black velvet rumble in the dark.

So this was his way of making up for last night. He wasn't going to apologize. He wasn't going to talk about it. He wasn't going to share whatever horrors that lived within his soul. Perhaps he couldn't. Hermione thought about it for a moment. Maybe there were some things that just couldn't be spoken of, some hurts that just couldn't be touched. Maybe some things needed to heal a bit more before they could be explored or shared. Hermione found that she could live with that.

He had spoken with his body what he couldn't share with words, and what perhaps he could never share. Although her curious nature still yearned for an explanation, Hermione discovered it didn't hurt her anymore. Explanations weren't always necessary. Some books didn't need to be opened and read-- just taken care of. She had found that out the hard way. It was enough that he had tried, that he had made some sort of attempt. She cuddled into his warm body and squeezed the arm that pinioned her.

"Good night, Severus."

_To everyone who sent me such wonderful reviews-- I bask joyfully in your praise. Thank you so much!_

_hime to werewolf-- Thank you for your tips on loose and lose. I get it's and its, affect and effect, and lots of other parts of speech mixed up too. Hopefully, I'm not too old to learn..._

_Celestrial Cloud-- I got the idea of bathing in blood from an actual historic event. There was a Transylvanian noblewoman, a contemporary of Vlad The Impaler, who actually believed she could preserve her youth and beauty by taking baths in human blood. She had teenage peasant girls kidnaped and brought to her castle, where she had them murdered and their blood drained into a large stone tub for her to soak in. Eventually, word of what was happening got around, and there was a revolt. Her castle was stormed, and she was captured by the mob. They didn't kill her (which probably would have been more humane.) Instead, they dragged her to a windowless room in one of the towers of her castle, and they bricked her in..._


	12. To Teach or Not to Teach

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. I do not own them or receive profit from them. I merely appreciate them and treat some of them better than she does...

**Chapter 12: _To Teach or not to Teach_**

"I must say that I'm disappointed with Dumbledore's handling of your Potions work, Hermione," Snape growled, as he scratched something that was probably blistering on some poor student's homework essay. "He's hardly taxing you. The man has been Headmaster for so long he's forgotten how to teach!"

His wife suppressed a smile at that remark. Of course Snape didn't believe anyone could teach his subject as well as he did, and he certainly didn't believe anyone could teach it properly without using his own stern, harsh means. Hermione thought Albus Dumbledore was a fine teacher and she enjoyed her Potions lesson with him. The fact that it was one-on-one made it even better. Such individual attention made for swifter learning, and Dumbledore's gentle manner made her feel relaxed and confident.

Surely that was a better way to instruct, wasn't it? Hermione had a sudden mental picture of the Headmaster presiding in his smiling way over a class of twenty or so fidgety first years-- all hell bent on melting their cauldrons and exploding their ingredients due to lack of attention... Perhaps Severus had a point. Perhaps the only reason there had never been a death or serious injury in his classes was because of the fear he instilled, because of his strict discipline. Too bad most of the students would never realize this.

"Perhaps, Severus, you could help me with it," she began.

"I'm not supposed to be your teacher anymore now that you are my wife," he said sourly.

"Oh, not in a teaching way," she ventured, making her voice sound as soothingly reasonable as possible. "But, perhaps we could work together on a few things. Maybe there is something I could assist you with. You make a lot of potions for Madam Pomfrey. Perhaps I can work with you on that. It would give me more practice and it might actually help you. There's nothing wrong with a husband and wife team is there?"

Snape chuckled caustically. "Hmph. I suppose I could do with an extra pair of hands occasionally..." He looked at her levelly. "If you are serious about this, then reserve a few hours after six o'clock on Saturday and Sunday evenings. Expect to work hard."

"Yes sir!" she couldn't help saying.

"Impertinent little witch," he muttered as he went back to correcting student essays. His wife couldn't help but notice that the corners of his mouth twitched a little.

Hermione exulted inwardly and covertly over this latest little victory. She was actually going to work with him! Most students, she knew, would have shivered at the thought of having to do so, but for the former Miss Granger, it was the fulfillment of a secret dream. She liked Potions. She truly enjoyed making something-- something wonderful, powerful, and magical-- simply from the skillful combination of odd, diverse, and often ordinary ingredients.

For some reason, the making of a potion seemed more magical to her than any other of the disciplines she had studied at Hogwarts. She understood that she, herself, was magical. Therefore, to summon or repel something, to change something, or even to blast and destroy something was a natural thing. It was a channeling of the magic present in her body through her wand. She could feel it. She understood it. But Potion making was totally different. It made something magical out of something that wasn't.

When she made a potion, it wasn't her body that was working the magic, even though her hands prepared the ingredients, it was her mind. It was the understanding of the process, the proportions, the relations; it was the memorization of the rules and steps that led to concocting of a potion. It was finding a key that opened a door, the answer to a puzzle-- like Einstein discovering the theory of relativity. It was like Da Vinci creating the Mona Lisa out of ordinary canvas and paint. It was creating something that was greater than the sum of its parts, and that said magic to her more than anything she knew her body could naturally do.

She had always wanted to be good enough, skilled enough, to work a potion with a master as accomplished as Severus Snape. She knew he was brilliant and had sensed from the very beginning that his command of the subject was probably unparalleled. He understood every nuance of the potion making process. He had written countless articles and treatises that Hermione was continually stumbling over when she delved through scholarly journals. He had been responsible for quite a few breakthroughs and discoveries. If a student made a mistake, he knew instantly what had happened and where they had gone wrong. He could tell by merely the scents and sounds in the classroom when a student was making a dangerous error, and he knew exactly how to fix or handle it. Hermione often thought her husband seemed frustrated by the simplicity of the lessons he had to teach and the failure of most of his students to grasp them.. or even to care.

One of the things that had hurt the most in her early years at Hogwarts was the disappointment that such a gifted and accomplished master had never found anything favorable in her work. She had tried to please all her teachers, but his was the praise, the regard, that she had craved the most. Up till now, and the few, stilted compliments he had paid her since their wedding, she had never received it, and that had led to her dislike of him for years.

And now he was allowing her to work with him! Oh, she probably would only be allowed to prepare ingredients for him, or clean up, at first. But that didn't matter. One had to start somewhere! She would get a chance to watch an artist at work-- a temperamental artist for sure, but she could easily put up with any of his fits of pique. she shared close quarters with him, after all. She was used to it. The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched, even as her husband's had done, as she bent over the last of her homework.

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Severus set up the work areas carefully, making sure each cauldron was placed on clean, scoured surfaces, before assembling the various ingredients they would be using for the evening's project. Poisonous herbs, he placed in one section, harmless ones he placed in another. Animal and insect parts were grouped separate from inanimate and plant ingredients. The liquids to be used were arrayed in the back, with the most dangerous and volatile of them to the left, and the most safe and stable to the right.

He surveyed his arrangements with a critical, practiced eye. Everything was perfectly set up for his work to begin. All was in order, in a state of practical, methodical grace. He took a step back, smiled in satisfaction, without realizing he had smiled at all. Severus enjoyed order. He felt comfortable in the presence of systematic neatness and precision. He knew there were plenty of Potion masters that did their best work, their most creative thinking, amid chaos and confusion, but his own mind thrived in an atmosphere of functional correctness.

It was this order and discipline that he had striven to instill in his classes, and in his entire role as a teacher. Darkness and disorder were affiliated, as was Light with proprietary rightness. There was strength in formality, in the strict adherence to rules. He had never agreed with laxity or indulgence when it came to students. To be soft on discipline was to do a disservice. It left students weak and dangerously unprepared. It had alarmed as well as angered Snape how indulgently Potter, and other troublemakers, had been treated by the Headmaster and other teachers. No one seemed to appreciate the good Severus had been trying to accomplish with his harsh methods of instruction.

Except Hermione. Snape knew that it had been her voice, amid the babble of youthful confusion, that had been the voice of reason for Potter and Weasley. It has been her discipline and her wisdom that had tempered the rashness of her two friends. Hers had been the constant admonition, the relied upon warning, that had been the unconscious grounding of their little group. At times despised, often ridiculed, but never completely ignored, her efforts to keep her friends within safe boundaries had probably saved their lives on occasion. She had certainly saved their grades for them in the past.

Snape sniffed at that. Students needed to stand on their own. He certainly didn't want his wife doing her lazy friends' homework for them anymore. The only positive thing about Hermione's absence from his classroom was the fact that her friends couldn't use her to correct their Potion mistakes. Especially Potter. Let others worship the boy-who-lived, the "chosen one," _He _wasn't going to further add to the child's weakness by coddling him!

Yet Severus had sorely missed her presence in his class. It had been secretly fun having her brilliance to teach, and he had taken covert pride in Hermione's work over the years. He had often given her class assignments that had potential for fargreater depth and detail than any of the other students would ever notice, doing so to find out if she would grasp all the nuances and find those details. She always did. Her essays had been a joy to read.

With her gone from his classroom, much of the spark had gone out of his teaching. It was frustrating beyond belief to see the mess so many students made out of what were really simple potions, potions his wife could have brewed in her sleep. And without Hermione's watchful presence to restrain him, Longbottom's mistakes were becoming potentially more and more lethal. There were days Severus actually considered resigning from his post, but he knew he couldn't do that until his wife had finished her studies here. Too bad he couldn't oversee her schoolwork, but the Headmaster had been very firm concerning that.

At precisely six o'clock, the laboratory door opened and Hermione arrived to begin her work with him. He watched her carefully as she appraised the neatly laid out work stations, noticing with gratification her appreciation of their methodical order.

"Are we brewing a Blood Cleansing Potion today?" she asked as her eyes ran over the ingredients and her nimble brain added together the various possibilities.

"Yes, very good," he said dryly. "I'm glad to see my past instruction has taken route in at least one of my students." He noticed her look a little surprised that there were two cauldrons set up. Obviously she hadn't expected to be actually brewing anything today.

"This is a fairly simple potion," he added, "though tediously time consuming. With two of us working on it, we should be able to make enough to ensure that our medi-wich has enough to take care of all the appalling numbers of poisonings that happen around here. Although, personally, I feel a few fatalities every now and then _might _encourage students to be a bit more prudent..."

Snape noticed his wife's eyes blaze for a minute in righteous indignation, but she managed to restrain herself before blasting him with a verbal reproof. Severus somehow kept his expression straight even though he was smirking inside. She didn't actually believe that did she? Typical. Griffendors were so forthright and simple-- like little Sir Gallahads charging forward bravely, usually without thinking first. A bit more subtlety was preferable in his opinion. But that was the Slytherin in him. Subtlety was Slytherin's middle name.

"Tell me, Hermione, which is the catalyst in this potion, and which is the stabilizer?"

"There are two catalysts, actually," she replied, "the powdered fire-ants and the concentrated oil of garlic. Eww!" she added, "This potion must really taste awful!"

"Of course it does. It is medicine. I believe there is an unwritten law that for a medicine to be effective, it must also taste bad. How else can a patient know he's been properly medicated?"

"You know, that actually makes sense," she admitted with a rueful smile as she poured the liquid base of sea water and alcohol into the cauldron and lit the fire.

"Why is the ratio three and a half to one between the two catalysts?" came the next question.

Hermione thought for a moment as she shredded seaweed in preparation for its timely addition. She frowned in concentration as she tried to conjure up a word-for-word answer from a book.

"Gudrun's Constant states that in potions with multiple catalysts, the weaker of the two must be represented three and a half times more than the stronger, and must be added to the stabilizer first to ensure proper cooperation in the potion." She exhaled slowly as though having just finished an oral examination.

"That is correct. Do you memorize everything you read?"

"I try to."

"Not everything you read is right, you know. Errors are still being found in magical texts. I found one myself when I was your age. Learning just to pass an exam is only partial scholarship. One must always question, always test, always probe for possible problems and exceptions. That is how breakthroughs are made."

Snape paused. Hermione was looking at him with her complete attention, as spark of academic fascination in her eyes. For the first time he had ever seen it, she wasn't paying attention to her potion. If he gave it another moment, the concoction might boil over...

"What is the stabilizer in this potion, Hermione?" His voice was just a little sharper.

"Mediterranean Kelp," she answered, stirring her solution carefully-- only just in time. Snape did smile this time, although he was sure his wife was too engrossed in saving her potion to have seen it.

"This isn't teaching you, by the way," he added.

"Oh, no. Of course not," she replied, stirring conscientiously.

"I'm not allowed to teach you."

"That wouldn't be proper," she agreed keeping her expression carefully schooled.

"I am merely asking pertinent questions to ascertain that my assistant knows the fundamentals of the mixture she is brewing," he went on smoothly.

"You would be extremely lax if you didn't do that, Severus," Hermione continued almost sweetly. "It is your duty to make sure these potions are made correctly and that those that assist you have the knowledge to do so."

"I'm glad we understand each other." Snape suppressed another smirk, and he could have sworn he saw her do the same.

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Hermione added her ingredients carefully. The stabilizing base was almost ready. Too bad it was such a nasty green color, but that was to be expected, she supposed, if the mixture's main component was kelp. A salty vapor rose in billows from the boiling cauldron, and Heremione added frog eyes and lizard scale to the bubbling liquid. The green hue intensified significantly and seemed to almost glow with phosphorescence as she added hot pepper extract and St. John's Wart. Odd, how Capsicin, usually a catalyst in many other potions was only a modifier in this one. She began to ponder the relationship between the various ingredients in rapt fascination.

Which error had Snape discovered when he was a student? Would she be able find a reference to it in some journal? She wondered if she could do the same thing, make some fascinating breakthrough, even if she was still an undergraduate. The thought was thrilling. It was very thrilling, but she carefully added a dousing element of caution to her ruminations, even as she added the secondary catalyst to her brew.

There was certainly no need to be cocky. She could just imagine the caustic barbs he would throw her way if he knew what she had been thinking. _Insufferable little know-it-all... _She felt the beginnings of a blush creep into her face, helped along, as well as camouflaged by, the steamy vapor emanating from her cauldron. He'd only sneer at her, laugh at her for her presumption...

She stopped that train of thought in sudden amazement as she realized that he really must think her capable-- at least potentially capable-- or he wouldn't have spoken to her as he did, given her the advice that he just had. He had given that advice in a very calm, matter-of-fact way, as though addressing a junior colleague, not an irritating student.

And this wasn't the first time he had done this, she realized. They had argued over elf-rights weeks ago, and had actually listened to her views, even as he had parried his disagreements of them. Funny how she hadn't realized that then. At the time, she had only been irritated that he wouldn't agree with her, that she couldn't get him to accede to the rightness of her cause. He had actually been treating her as more of an equal-- a rather un-Snapish thing for him to do. She felt a spark of warmth that wasn't a blush flare up somewhere inside of her.

A couple of surprising jigsaw pieces fit themselves together in her mind. It was possible that Snape was really attempting to help her learn, learn what the Headmaster might not be teaching her-- even though he had to pretend that he wasn't actually doing that. Perhaps he was truly acknowledging her intelligence, giving her the regard she had craved from him for years. The spark inside her flickered a little brighter, and her brain quickened to the possible things she could learn from him-- providing, of course, that she didn't irritate him by asking too many questions. A warm, feeling of secret comradeship crept into her soul, but it wouldn't do, of course, to let him see that...

"Why isn't the capsicin acting as a catalyst here, as it does in the Pepper-up Potion?" she asked reasonably.

"Because it is too heavily modified by the arrowroot and the comfrey," he replied. "Which you would have realized in another moment had you been giving the problem sufficient consideration. If we removed those ingredients, Hermione, what sort of a mixture would we have?"

Hermione pondered for a moment. "A poisonous one. It would be a solution that would severely scour the linings of blood vessels."

"And if sufficiently diluted?"

Her eyes widened suddenly. "It would remove plaque from blocked arteries!"

"Yes. It would then be called Heinrick's Solution, although it would have to be refined a bit more. Who was the inventor of the Blood Cleansing Potion that we are working on?"

"Sigrid of Hamlin."

"When was it discovered?"

"1225. It was used to help combat a plague." She paused, thinking. "But this potion doesn't do anything to alleviate plague symptoms!"

"No, not the symptoms of those who actually _have _the plague. It took a few more centuries before wizards found the cure for that. But if taken before the onslaught of symptoms, provided the wizard in question was lucky enough to realize he had been infected, it could eradicate the disease from the body. It was preventative medicine."

Hermione added the second catalyst and her potion began to smoke profusely as the ingredients reacted with each other. As always, she found this stage the most fascinating. Magic was happening before her very eyes! Things were changing. Something was becoming...

The green color of the seething liquid was turning a purplish brown, and an acrid stench of burnt garlic pervaded the room. Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste. This was one potion she didn't want to ever have to take! But, at least it was _supposed_ to smell like this. Her last attempt at home cooking had ended up with much the same aroma and her mother had been far less than pleased. Her mind glanced away from that memory. THIS endeavor had been a success!

They carefully ladled the reeking mixture into flasks, corked them securely, and carefully labeled each container.

"How long to you think this supply will last?" Hermione asked as she carried the newly labeled flasks two-by two into a waiting crate.

"That depends entirely on the ratio of competence to stupidity in the student body, and my views there are far from sanguine. Pity. This is not a mixture I enjoy having to make."

"What else do you make for the infirmary?"

"Just about everything they're too cheap to buy," he snorted. "Restorative Draughts, Pain Relievers, Sleeping Solutions, and various mixtures useful against serious curses. Angharad's Nerve Tonic is especially effective on victims recovering from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus. That one, incidentally, is extremely difficult to make."

"It's fortunate, then, that you won't have to make much of it now that the war's over," she said as she began to carefully put away the leftover ingredients.

"Really. And why is that?" The words were almost a whisper.

"Well... The war is over. Voldemort is dead."

"Did you think the Dark Arts died with Voldemort? Do you honestly believe peace and security are eternally ours because of the death of one man?" Somber black eyes bored into hers, and Hermione felt a chill pass from them to her.

"There is always another Dark lord, Hermione. Always. It is the way things are, the nature of dark magic itself. Killing one Dark lord simply creates a void for the next one to step into, and there will always be someone willing to make that step. There is a hunger inherent in the practice of dark magic, an instinct to dominate and control. Most wizards believe the hunger exists only in the types of people who seek out the darkness, but it is IN the darkness itself, just as cold seeks to extinguish heat, so Darkness longs to quell the Light."

"Like a black hole in space," whispered Hermione, "where not even light can escape."

"Except that Dark magic can be fought. It can be resisted. But it is a continual battle and those who wage this battle must understand the foe they are fighting, and they must not underestimate it. The Dark Arts are an ever changing, ever evolving force-- like a monster which grows a newer and more fearsome head every time you chop it off. Those who fight the Dark must be on the lookout for anything the enemy can do. They must never grow complacent."

"Constant Vigilance!" Hermione couldn't help but say. There was a quiet passion in her husband's manner when he spoke of the Dark Arts that unnerved her. She had a mental picture of what a Defense Class with Snape as the teacher would be like.

"Constant Vigilance indeed," he mused wryly. "Yes, quite. Moody was the only truly qualified Defense teacher this school ever had, and yet he was an impostor, a Deatheater only posing as Alastar Moody. The sad irony was that this actually made him more effective in his subject. He understood the Dark Arts in a way few others could. One can't portray the horror of it who hasn't looked darkness in the eye, who hasn't faced it in his soul, who hasn't mastered it within himself... or failed to master it."

Hermione considered for a minute. "I suppose that was what made Professor Lupin such a great Defense teacher too. He had to face the darkness within himself every month."

Snape stiffened and flashed her a dangerous look. Hermione looked away and finished packaging up the last of the supplies. When she spoke, her voice was studiedly quiet and reasonable, if a little tremulous. It was the sound of one whose words walked a tightrope, or threaded a necessary path through a minefield.

"I know you hate him, Severus. I know you've hated him ever since you were in school together, but putting aside your history with him, you really have to admit he was a good teacher. We all learned so much in his class, he gave all of us a chance, and he was extremely patient and kind."

The reply was a derisive snort. "Kindness won't help anyone fight the Dark Arts!"

"Oh, yes it will!" she countered. "Never underestimate the power of encouragement, of hope and forgiveness! Those qualities are Light, aren't they? So is love, by the way. Dumbledore told Harry that the only reason he could win against Voldemort was that he was capable of love. Professor Lupin's kindness was a _strength._ It's wrong to keep hating him!" She turned from her work of cleaning her table to give him a level look.

"You can say that after all that you know? After everything Potter's told you?" The words were the hiss of snake about to strike.

"Harry didn't need to tell me anything! I was there, wasn't I? I heard the same story he did. Lupin was the werewolf that almost killed you when Sirius Black played that horrible prank on you! Sirius was the one that tried to hurt you. Lupin couldn't help being what he was!"

"And, surely Potter told you the rest?" Snape's stare was hard and vindictive, yet Hermione didn't think that vindictiveness was actually directed at her.

"No. What else would he tell me?"

The stony gaze softened in intensity, and Severus appeared a bit nonplused, as if he had suddenly found himself unexpectedly outmaneuvered.

"He said nothing else?" The dubious tone was hushed.

"What is it you're talking about?" If there was a secret, some cache of information, she wanted to know it!

"Well, well," Snape mused. "He actually didn't say anything? Amazing. Out of character, actually." He leaned back against one of the desks and stared in an unfocussed way for a second. Then he scowled resentfully, piqued that he couldn't find something to complain of about Harry. He paused for a minute and then shook his head. "I suppose that Lupin wasn't the worst Defense teacher. That honor, I believe, goes to Umbridge."

"Actually, Professor Lockhart was worse than her." Hermione gathered all the garbage together and vanished it with her wand.

"As I remember, child, you had a crush on him."

"I did not!" A blush flared over her face.

"You drew little hearts next to his name in your notebook. I overheard Weasley tease you about them."

"I was only twelve, Severus!" she countered in exasperation, hands on her hips, "And besides, we didn't know at the time that he didn't do all the things he wrote in his books!"

Snape smirked. "Ah, women and children. So easily fooled by a handsome face and a glittering smile-- not to mention all the horse feathers he spouted every time he opened his mouth!" He turned a set of gleaming eyes her way. "He's the idiot who gave you permission to read Most Potente Potions, wasn't he? And I never got a chance to properly thank him for it! _That _was what led you to break into my office and pilfer my private ingredients!"

Hermione blanched in sudden alarm. Her hands rose to her face. "You knew that! How long have you known?"

Severus lounged more languidly against the desk. "Oh, it took me a couple of years to deduce the real story. Since I was convinced it was Potter, the perpetual troublemaker, that was responsible I didn't immediately suspect you. It never would have occurred to me that it was sweet Miss Law-abiding Granger that was the actually thief!" He paused before adding, "Count yourself extremely fortunate that I _didn't _catch you right away!"

Goose bumps prickled on Hermione's arms in spite of herself.

He gave her a rather gloating smirk. "Though I did think the punishment you did receive was _most_ fitting. Imagine being covered in cat fur for an entire week! It's really too bad I didn't get to see it. It puts the term 'pussy' in a whole new light!"

She glared at him.

"Now child, tell me, " he drawled as he moved away from the desk, "what lesson did you learn from all that?"

"To be more careful with my ingredients," she retorted darkly. Her eyes evaded his as he approached her.

"Yes. Certainly never _drink _any potion that you haven't double or triple checked the contents of. That's what guinea pigs are for-- and unsuspecting enemies. And never, NEVER be cocky!" He stalked past her, shaking his head. "Polyjuice Potion in your second year!" He tickled her suddenly in passing so that she jumped.

"Insufferable know-it-all!" He almost sounded affectionate.


	13. Excursions and unexpected meetings

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. I do not own them or receive any financial gain from using them. This is just pure, unadulterated fun...

**CHAPTER 13: _Excursions and Unexpected Meetings_**

One of the benefits of assisting the Potion master was being allowed to procure ingredients with him. Hermione was certain that very few other students would actually relish this, but she had looked forward to their first shopping trip with eager excitement. They were going to Diagon Alley, and while she had been there with her friends and her bewildered parents, she had never perused the more serious of the shops with a seasoned wizard. There were stores that discouraged, or even banned, students from entering. She was going to see some of them now.

Of course it hadn't been easy breaking this news to her friends. This was also the last Hogsmead weekend before Christmas, and Harry and Ron had expected her to go along with them. They hadn't reacted graciously.

"You're always with that _git_, Hermione!"

"Yeah! We see you less and less. You shouldn't let that old Vampire keep you from having some fun!"

"_We're _your friends. He's not even a REAL husband. You only married him because you had to!"

"I know," she replied, trying to sound sad or resigned. Her friends wouldn't understand anything else. "But I _did _marry him and I sort of have to keep the peace... Besides, I need to buy your Christmas presents. How can I do that if you two are hanging around watching me?"

Her words mollified her friends and Hermione tried to keep her expression sympathetic. The contemptuous way they spoke about Severus bothered her. Severus Snape was a human being and he couldn't help being the way he was. He certainly wasn't the mate that she would have chosen, but it angered her to hear him reviled in front of her and insulted behind his back. It wasn't fair and it wasn't kind. The only thing that kept her from saying this to Harry and Ron was the knowledge that she would only be wasting her breath.

When Lavender and Parvati approached, Hermione watched with nausea as the two of them began flirting with the boys. They took the news that she was not going to Hogsmead with ill-concealed joy. They sidled sinuously up to Harry and Ron, tossing their heads of lustrous hair, batting their long-lashed eyes, and beaming out of their lovely, perfectly made up faces. Hermione had never been so conscious of the physical differences between herself and them. Not that it mattered anymore.

"Ron! Harry! Wait up!"

Hermione brightened as Ginny joined them, her friend Luna at her side. The beautiful faces of the other two girls took on a hard-edged quality and the smiles they wore turned a little catty.

"Oh, Luna!" cooed Lavender in the sort of mock sweetness only women can deliver. "What fantastic new robes! Did you make them yourself?" She plucked at Luna's sleeve with a finely manicured hand. Parvati giggled and moved closer to Harry. Thankfully, Harry didn't respond favorably.

Luna smiled sweetly-- with true, not false, sweetness-- and gazed at the two girls out of her slightly vague, protuberant eyes. "Why, yes, I did! How did you guess?"

Parvati giggled harder. "It's your own special touch, Luna! We just can't miss it!"

"Why, it's so _artistic_!" Lavender went on. "The design is so _different_! I love how it looks like you have webs all over you! And it even looks like you have spiders in your hair... Those aren't _real_ spiders, are they?" Lavender smiled coquetishly over at Ron.

Hermione felt fury rise up in her soul. How vile! How nasty! How deliberately, maliciously cruel! Why did women treat each other so despicably? Hermione wanted to throttle Lavender and Parvati within an inch of their glamorous lives, especially since their target was Luna-- Luna who never fought back, who took each and every verbal assault with cheerful, resigned serenity-- but who felt them, who still, inevitably, hurt. Luna was irritating, but she didn't possess one ounce of cruelty.

It was usually Hermione who was the target of these sorts of barbs. She was odd. She was plain. She lacked style and social grace. She also had no magical background, no advantageous cultural standing. Her friendship with Parvati and Lavender had always been rocky. They had teased her more than they had befriended her. It was _her_ hair that they would normally be comparing to spiders' legs. Odd, how that constant barrage of subtle slights had stopped since her marriage.

But, of course it made perfect sense. They didn't see her as a rival anymore. She was an old married lady on the shelf. Who cared now how Hermione dressed, or if her hair resembled steel wool? It was now poor Luna that they picked on. Hermione drew breath to speak but Ron spoke up first.

"Don't be nutters, Lav. She doesn't have spiders in her hair!" he piped up suddenly.

"And Ron should know! He's an absolute expert on spiders!" laughed Ginny. Harry laughed with her.

"Of course I wouldn't put spiders in my _hair_!" Luna put in with serious innocence, "They wouldn't like that. They're much happier in the corners of rooms where they belong." She looked kindly at Ron and Ginny and seemed to forget that Lavender and Parvati were even present in the room.

"Hey, why don't you and Ginny join us?" Harry asked. "Since poor 'Mione's stuck grocery shopping, we could use the company. Butterbeer's all on me!"

Luna brightened like a sunrise after a storm, and Hermione's heart lifted at the kindness of her friends. She wished that she could go along with them and pretend to be a single, carefree student again. She wished she still really belonged, that life was still simple. She suddenly even missed-- irrational though it was-- the negative attention from the Lavenders and Parvatis of life, attention that proved she wasn't past the possibility of love, that she wasn't forever shut out, that she still had a normal future.

"See ya, 'Mione! Don't let old Snape push you around!"

Harry's snide tone as he mentioned her husband brought Hermione out of her melancholy, and reminded her that she had been looking forward to her excursion with him.

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Severus and Hermione floo'd directly from their quarters to the Leaky Cauldron at Diagon Alley. Snape watched his wife with inward amusement. She was a bundle of energy, a combination of excitement and restraint. He could sense her eagerness, as well as the unnatural fetters on her personality that his presence imposed. Hermione would have been a chatterbox had she been with anyone else. He wondered if she would ever learn to become comfortable with him or if he would ever learn how to encourage it.

Taking her with him was making her miss a Hogsmead weekend and Snape knew it had probably been selfish on his part to insist on her company, but her willingness had assuaged his guilt. She had been delighted to come. The needs of her keen intellect had obviously taken precedence over the opportunity to laugh and talk with her peers.

But of course he couldn't help dragging her along. He wanted to spend time with her. He wanted to see her flashing curiosity and her joy of discovery as she studied the exotic wares in some of the shops he would take her to. No matter how reserved she naturally was in his presence, there were questions-- torrents of them-- that were bound to come gushing out. He looked forward to answering them, even though he would do his best to hide it from her.

Snape had taken pains early in his teaching relationship with Hermione to impress upon her just how irritating he found her constant questions. The truth, however, was much the opposite. Oh, her obvious enthusiasm to master all knowledge _had _irritated him. But it had irritated him mostly because he had found it attractive, even as her know-it-all behavior had bothered him because he saw it as dangerous... All that innocent confidence, that urge to show off, that earnest eagerness to please had seemed frightening.

She had been_ too_ innocent, too unguarded. Had he behaved that way as a child, he would have been stamped upon and crushed. Had he displayed anything other than stoic strength and extreme, artful caution he might never have survived childhood. Yes, his put-downs had hurt her, but there were worse hurts a person could suffer. His only regret was that his early attempts to teach her subtlety and restraint had probably poisoned her heart against him. Yet, if given the chance to do it over, he would most likely still have pursued the same course. He wouldn't have known how to do anything else.

Oddly, this was the first public appearance the two of them had made together since their marriage, and Snape mused upon it as they stepped out into Diagon Alley's bustling throng. Until now, their only interaction as a married couple had been in private. Outside of their quarters, they had always gone their separate ways-- he as a teacher, she as a student. They never ate together, never openly associated with each other. They never strolled down the castle corridors together the way they were now walking side by side in this thick crowd of Christmas shoppers.

Such separateness had lent a sense of unreality to their union. It had felt, to him, like he had a secret marriage, a private little arrangement where a lovely, much desired student shared his rooms and warmed his bed. There was an implied shamefulness in it too-- as though their partnership was meant to be hidden, to be sheltered in darkness until the unjust law that had brought it about was finally repealed.

But now, walking together in the early winter sunshine in this very public place-- away from Hogwarts, and away from everyday routine and constraint-- his marriage to Hermione began to seem far more real. Even the trip they had taken to his ancestral home hadn't made him feel this way, because that, after all, had still been private. Here, there were heads that turned to look at them, eyes that noted their presence. People recognized him, and recognized, too, that the man who forever walked alone, who kept himself aloof and separate, now had a companion.

Faces he knew registered little surprise since the Snape marriage had been publicized in all the wizarding papers, but the inquiring glances were curious. Severus felt a mixture of pride and guilt as he acknowledged the nods of greeting that were flashed at him. He wanted to show off his wife. He felt a new possessiveness flood him as observers accepted her as his, and he had to fight the temptation to strut as he walked. Just think, all that sweet beauty and incredible intelligence walked by _his_ side, and perhaps always would if that law were never repealed...

But, of course the law would be repealed. As Severus walked with his young bride, he also walked with the knowledge that it was all a sham, a farce, that she would never belong to him in the way that truly mattered. He had taken advantage of an evil law to take advantage of her. No matter how real this marriage was beginning to feel for him, it was not a true union. She didn't love him and never would.

Ogelvie's General Supply held the contract for the school and they stopped there first to get the most basic of ungredients at discount. Snape let Hermione sift through the moonstones, shrivelfigs, and sopophorous beans. He let her read off the list of powders, oils, and tinctures that they needed. Her eyes scanned the shelves for ingredients she hadn't used before.

"What do you use Dromedary Oil for?" she whispered at him as she examined a pile of dried Black Widow spiders before selecting a few. Snape suppressed a smile at her hushed tone.

"Hunch Back Potion," he replied simply.

She scrutinized a spider carefully for flaws before placing it on the scale. "Does it cure hunchback or give it?"

"Cure it of course," he countered with asperity. "Inflicting someone with a hunch back requires a hex."

She eyed him sideways as she loaded another spider on the scale.

"Hunch Back Hex was once popular at the school," he explained. "Thankfully, these spells go in and out of favor and new ones replace them. That particular hex is one I don't miss."

"Was it very painful?" she asked as the last of their purchases were being wrapped up.

He cast her a sharp look. How did she always jump to the correct conclusion? Sick memories of James and Sirius jumped into his mind. "No more so than Tantalegria or the Bat Bogey Hex," he replied with careful casualness, "which are popular enough at present. Besides, Dromedary Oil is rather costly. Tuition would have to be raised if that hex regained popularity."

"Leveracorpus was popular when you were at school too, wasn't it?" she asked innocently as they stepped back out into the street.

Severus controlled himself only with difficulty. He was going to throttle Potter if he ever got the chance to do so! Only that insufferable brat could have spread that little pearl of unwanted knowledge.

"Yes!" he snapped, "and Pig Nose, Purple Dandruff, Unraveling Robes, and Stiff Upper Lip! And other ridiculous hexes that would make the Weasley twins proud! Petty, stupid spells that waste students' time and effort. I punish every student I catch casting them, even those of my own house!"

"Oh, really?" Her voice was incredulously miffed. "You never give detentions to your own house! You never take points away either!"

He snorted scornfully. "Certainly not where other houses can see it! Slytherins don't air dirty laundry in public, Hermione. If I have to discipline my students... and I do... I have enough subtlety to do so in _private_. It's part of the tradition and mystique of Slytherin House, part of the pride too."

Hermione said nothing as they continued along the street, although she paused a little as they passed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"And no, we are not stopping in there!" Snape growled in her direction. "Unless you really _need _a Skiving Snackbox or a dose of You No Poo."

To his surprise, she chuckled. "No, I don't think so. I didn't like their jokes when I was a Prefect and had to try to keep them in line. But I must say, though, that their inventiveness _is_ rather brilliant."

"I can think of better ways for them to use their brilliance than making newer and more improved dung-bombs," he groused darkly."

"Perhaps you're right about that," she murmured looking longingly into the window of a book store.

"Shopping first. Bookstore after." he told her dryly.

She smiled.

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Hermione passed the bookstore reluctantly, but thought to herself that if she had to be married off at the tender age of seventeen (even if she _had_ used the Time Turner, she still felt only seventeen,) at least she was joined to a man who appreciated books. That was something to be thankful for.

She suppressed a sigh. Snape was so hard to deal with that sometimes there was no figuring him out. He could be almost companionable one minute, and then harsh and nasty the next. Mere months ago, she would have scoffed at the idea of Professor Snape being companionable at all, but now that she had seen a more human side to him, she became impatient and disappointed when he didn't show it. Sometimes he seemed to snap at her for no reason. It was as though his emotional armor covered so thin a skin that if he lowered it enough to talk to her, her words somehow pricked him in the raw. Whenever that happened she felt affronted. But that was silly, wasn't it? This was Snape. What did she expect?

But the little moments of near-camaraderie left her hopeful for more. There was a void in her life since her marriage had separated her from the normal students. A void, tiny at present, was growing between her and her friends. Hermione didn't seem to really belong anywhere, being neither carefree student or a true wife. A friendly relationship with her husband would fill some of that gap.

Sometimes she almost got a fleeting glimpse that this was possible. He might speak to her as an equal, discuss some problem in Arithmancy or Potions with her, or share a bit of wry humor. In moments like these she would feel a sense of acceptance and a warm spark of understanding. She might then wonder if the evening would bring passion, and begin to secretly anticipate all that entailed. But then, as so often happened, he would snap at her or withdraw from her. He would retreat behind his cold, sarcastic armor and she would be the barely tolerated wife-concubine again. She sometimes thought this was worse than if he had been always nasty, because then she would have simply tolerated him, or hated him. As it was, she wanted to be his friend.

Despite feeling on uncertain ground with her husband, Hermione was having a very enjoyable time. She loved shopping, and she loved picking through all the oddities in the bizarre little shops that lined the Alley. Many of these she had never been allowed in before, as they didn't cater to students. There were apothecaries that sold powders and essential oils, others that carried only dried herbs. There were stores that peddled amulets and talismans, and other prepared magical goods, and shops that sold odd little bits of everything. She could have spent hours asking interminable questions, but she knew she couldn't waste Severus' time, or his patience, by doing that. She was just glad he had taken her along at all.

She was browsing happily through the shelves of The Source, one of the better apothecaries, breathing in the scent of mingled herbs, and eyeing curiously all the bins and bottles, when she suddenly realized that she was fulfilling a very old, almost forgotten wish. As a child, she had been fascinated by places like this in the same way others are drawn to antique shops. She had loved open-air markets but her parents avoided them religiously. She longed to see the exotic spice bazaars of the East, but knew it would be years before she would ever get the chance to travel there.

There had been a London shop, a dingy little Chinese medicine store, that she had always wanted to go in, but her parents had never allowed it. She would stare enthralled through the dim front window, watching the elderly Asian proprietor measure herbs and powders onto a scale and wrap them up in tiny paper packets for his lucky customers until her mother or father would impatiently drag her away.

_"Come ON, Hermione. Come along! I simply can't understand your fascination with that scruffy little shop! That's not our sort of place, dear. Hurry, now. We'll be late for our appointment."_

_"Can't we go in just once, mummy?"_

_"Oh, certainly NOT! I've already told you. That's not our kind of place. We're Dentists, medical professionals! We don't go to shops that sell shark's teeth and lizard skins. That's quack medicine and superstition, and I won't have you poking around in that sort of nonsense! When you growup, you can study proper medicine at University and work to shut down these filthy little shops..."_

Hermione sighed as she carefully placed a bottle marked "Lover's Tears" back on it's shelf. She knew without a doubt how her parents would have viewed this shop and it's contents. They had made their first trip to Diagon Alley in a haze of stunned disbelief at the actual existence of such a place and the completely alien world of which it was a part. The Grangers had allowed their only child to become engulfed in this new and strange world because they hadn't any idea how to prevent it. It seemed the only answer for their odd, baffling daughter. Hermione never knew if the disappointment, that they first tried to hide, was disappointment with her for being what she was, or with themselves for failing to make her conform. It was something she would never know, and perhaps it was better she didn't...

"Come, Hermione, fascinating as these particular ingredients are, it's time to make our purchases and go. I'd like to stop somewhere for lunch."

Hermione followed after him toward the front of the shop. As they passed a display of prepared products, she suddenly stopped.

"Oh, look! Fornswarter's Instant Hair Straightener! I have to get this." She picked up a bottle to show him.

"Why?" Snape asked in a sour, dubious tone.

"For my hair, _obviously_" she replied. "Lavender and Parvati say this formula works in seconds!"

"Again, I ask _why? _Why should we waste our jointly held gold simply to remove curls from your hair?"

Heat rushed to Hermione's face. "To make me look better, of course!" She didn't like the mock-patient snideness in his voice. "Just because I'm married now doesn't mean I should neglect my appearance! I know men think it's silly, and it probably is, but I really think I should make _some _attempt at beauty!"

"And pouring this ridiculous stuff on your head will make you beautiful?" Snape took the bottle out of her hand and raised a scornful eyebrow at it's contents.

Hermione blinked back tears. Of course it wouldn't make her beautiful. Nothing would do that, but she was tired-- really tired-- of people sniggering at her hair! It was the first thing they noticed when they saw her. Some of the looks she had received today had been downright insulting. Not that he cared.

"Well, at least it would be stylish," she whispered with icy dignity.

Snape rolled his eyes. "The entire concept of stylishness, or unstylishness, as well as the enslavement of normally intelligent beings to it, is the most asinine idea ever foisted on the human race! I honestly thought that by now you'd be above that sort of thing!" His tone was a caustic hiss.

"I wouldn't expect YOU to understand!" she snapped, grabbing the bottle away from him and not caring how many people saw them fight in public.

"Oh _really? _For your information, Hermione, beauty is in the eye of the beholder-- or perhaps you never heard this! I happen to like your hair _exactly _the way it is, but it _is_ YOUR hair, isn't it?" he continued with heated sarcasm. "Far be it for ME to object to _anything_ you do with it!" and he turned from her, striding away in an angry flourish of his black robes.

Hermione fumed in hurt outrage. How dare he act this way-- in public? She was on the verge of shouting something about his own woeful appearance, when she stopped. Severus had just paid her a compliment. It was sourly worded, and ungraciously delivered, but it _was _a compliment... He said he liked her hair just as it was. She paused for a moment with the bottle in her hand and then slowly put it back on the shelf. She joined her husband at the counter a moment later and they paid for their purchases in silence.

"Don't tell me you're actually going to keep all that decadent abundance?" He asked sardonically when they were out onto the street again.

"Well," she replied carefully, "it does seem ridiculous to try to impress people who really shouldn't matter to me. I mean, conformity for the sake of conformity doesn't make any logical sense, does it?"

"The triumph of logic," he murmured, running a finger through one of her masses of curls and managing to tickle her cheek as he did so. "I knew there had to be at least one good reason why I married you."

"Can we go to the book store now?" she asked suddenly.

"Minx! I _did_ say we would..." Then he added casually, "If I buy you a book, you owe me tonight."

"Fair enough."

She hoped no one noticed her blush as she suddenly contemplated what she might owe him and how he might make her pay... How they had gone from antagonistic to companionable again? Dealing with Snape was like riding a roller coaster. There were exciting, breathless highs when they made love, and then unexpected twists and turns of sarcastic banter, perilous bends and dips of misunderstandings, and sudden screaming descents to angry, smoldering lows. Perhaps the best way to get on with Severus was to enjoy the ups and try to endure the lows. But it was baffling, and more than a little frustrating.

"By the way," her husband began later as they sipped coffee after lunch, her new book resting in its parcel by her feet.. "The next time Miss Brown and Miss Patil attempt to make you over in their image, offer to hex them."

"Will you teach me the Purple Dandruff hex?"

Snape almost choked on his gulp of coffee. "Oh, certainly not! I wish I never mentioned it! I'm a school master. What sort of example would I be setting if I taught students stupid spells like that? And everyone would know I taught you... Besides I was thinking more along the lines of a baldness charm."

"Well, that would be effective," she giggled. "And I could do it, too. But I still think it's a shame I couldn't give them the purple flakes."

"As a teacher, now is the time I should be telling you that anyone whose crimes are petty enough to only deserve a dandruff hex aren't worthy of your notice, and anyone whose sins are more serious should receive far worse than purple flakes. But I won't tell you that because I am no longer your teacher."

Hermione fought back a smirk at this clever attempt to play Socrates, but before she could compose a suitable comeback, she spotted the arrival of someone who definitely deserved more than purple dandruff-- Lucius Malfoy. She had a feeling her roller coaster was about to take a dive.

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Severus eyed his wife over his cup of coffee and allowed himself to contemplate the pleasures of the evening that he had surely purchased along with that new book on rain forest flora he had bought her. Had it seemed a fair trade to her, sex for a book? Was that what his relationship was reduced to? But no, he was being ridiculous. It was he who had made the suggestion. She wouldn't have refused him his conjugal rights anyway. She never refused him, after all.

But never once had his wife initiated lovemaking. It was he who had to make the overtures, to give her the proper cues that it was time for sex. She always complied when he did this-- the earnest little student who strove to please and followed all the rules. And he made her enjoy it. With his skill and her apparent willingness there was no way that couldn't happen, but Snape had no idea if she was really willing at all or simply dutiful.

There were times he could have sworn that she welcomed his advances, but that was his tortured wishful imagination. After all, who was he kidding? If Hermione did submit to him gladly, it wasn't because she wanted _him_. All healthy young women enjoyed the carnal act from time to time, especially if their partners possessed a reasonable amount of skill at it. That certainly didn't mean that she could ever actually _love_ him. But could she possibly learn to like him? That would be like getting a crust of bread when one craved a feast. A crust was better than starvation, it was true, but how did one turn respect and tollerance into friendship? Friendship wasn't something he was gifted at.

Perhaps it was best to just enjoy what he could, when he could, for as long as he could-- cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Snape tried not to look at her obviously, but he couldn't help gazing at the little bits of Hermione's skin that were exposed, and remember how good they felt to touch, to kiss... All he had to do was to wait patiently for evening and thoroughly take what he had bargained for.

"Well, well.. Severus! What a pleasant surprise." Snape looked up in barely disguised irritation to see Lucius Malfoy approaching him. "I had no idea you would be here today. Don't tell me you are _Christmas _shopping?"

"Grocery shopping is more like it," Snape replied tersely.

The last person he wanted to run into at this point was Malfoy. Not when Hermione was with him. Even if Severus hadn't known that his old friend/enemy had definitely meant to harm her before she had safely become Mrs. Snape, he would have kept his wife away from him. Malfoy, for all his outward civility, was steeped in evil. His mere presence felt defiling. Snape refused to rise in courteous greeting.

"Where is Jeanine? Is she with you?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy turned slightly and looked at her. Up until this moment, Lucius hadn't given her as much as a polite glance. He had acted as if her presence was of no more importance than one of the grocery bags, or a slave whose job it was to take care of such menial things as grocery bags. Now his cold, insolent eyes slid her way.

"Jeanine?" He paused, lip curling slightly. "Oh, yes, my... _wife,_" Lucius continued with a cruel little smile. "I'm afraid that at present my dear wife is a little indisposed. It seems that expectant motherhood doesn't agree with her as it should. A Muggle trait, I am sure." The blonde wizard's gaze raked Hermione's figure from head to toe before he turned from her dismissively and addressed Snape again. "I'm surprised, my friend, that by now you aren't expecting your own _blessed event_."

Severus wished at this moment that he could inflict the man with something ten times worse than a hunchback hex, but that would be tragically stupid. It would start a duel, cause collateral damage to the people around them, and most likely lead to a blood feud. The best way to deal with an enemy was to keep them in front of you where you could see them, and let _them _start the fight. He nudged Hermione with his foot to warn her to keep quiet. If he was angry, she must be feeling murderous.

"Only a matter of time, Lucius," he managed to drawl.

The look Hermione shot him wasn't pleasant. She was smoldering with pent-up fury, but it was anger at him for censuring her more than it was rage at Malfoy for being the bastard that he was. She felt he was treating her like a child. Well, of course he was! When had she ever kept her mouth safely shut? And Griffindors had a habit of going off like little rockets-- rash, impetuous, righteously stupid... He pressed the instep of her foot warningly. It would be rash to provoke or bait Malfoy at this time, or to pick a fight with her husband in front of him-- and she should know it. She glared at him through narrow, resentful eyes and Severus knew that his night of passion, the type of passion he had been looking forward to anyway, had just flown out the window. He could have killed Malfoy with his bare hands.

"Well, Severus, I'm sure it _is_ only a matter of time. However, if you need any help..."

Hermione was regarding Lucius in horrified disgust. Malfoy noticed it and his cruel little smile deepened.

"I'm quite capable of taking care of that on my own," Snape heard himself say.

Malfoy smiled again. "I'm sure you are. Good day, Severus." The man turned on his heel and strode arrogantly away, perfectly aware that he made an impressive figure with his sumptuous robes, proud carriage, and long lustrous blond hair-- not to mention the animal musk of danger he seemed to exude from his very pores.

Hermione waited until he was out of earshot before she exploded.

"The nerve," she hissed, "the gall! Offering to.. I'd take poison first!"

"I'd help you," Snape muttered.

"Poor Jeanine! _Indisposed_... I'll just bet she's indisposed! Oh what could be the matter with her?"

Snape sighed. The current Mrs. Malfoy's problem was that she had _not_ used poison. "You would do better not to ask," was all he said.

His wife rounded on him with eyes suddenly bright with suspicion. "What do you mean? Do you know something about this? Do you know what's going on in the Malfoy house?"

"No," he said quellingly. "Thankfully, I do not actually know what is taking place under the Malfoy roof. I can only conjecture." He couldn't help a note of frustration. He knew Malfoy was up to something. He always was.

"Well, what could be happening?" She demanded, all but shaking him by the lapel of his cloak.

Snape was suddenly roused to fury. Hadn't she learned? Hadn't she glimpsed enough darkness already to see what sort of horrors that existed among those depraved enough to practice them? He grabbed her hands and leaned menacing forward until his face was only inches from hers. "Do you honestly want to know all the things that could be going on in that house?" he hissed brutally.

The angry brown eyes of his wife quailed a little. "No."

"I didn't think so! Remember this, Hermione. At present, Lucius Malfoy appears to be acting entirely within the law, sinfully flawed though that law might be. And if there are ways in which he is transgressing the law, he is being carefully and completely discreet..." He glared at her meaningfully. "And any attempt by you and your friends to sneak and snoop about Malfoy Manor to discover his transgressions would NOT be within the law."

"I'm not going to do that! I wasn't even thinking about it!"

"Well, thank heaven for small favors! You do have a track record for putting yourself into dangerous situations! I shudder to think of all the times you could have gotten yourself killed, you and your reckless Griffindor friends, and that ridiculous DA..."

"The DA _isn't_ ridiculous!" she spat back. "There are times when SOMEBODY has to do something when nobody usually does!"

Snape felt suddenly sick to his gut looking into her mutinous eyes. He had probably just goaded her into the very thing he desperately didn't want her to do! Exasperating, noble, torch-bearing Griffindors!

"Somebody _IS_ doing something! Even now, there are those keeping careful watch for any sign of wrongdoing on the part of Malfoy and others. They are doing so secretly and _patiently_."

"The Order?"

"Yes, but breathe it softly! Malfoy's aren't the only ears to have to worry about, even in here. There are those who watch and wait, Hermione. Do me the courtesy, as my wife if nothing else, of allowing them to do their job unhampered by interference!" His fingers pinched hers and he looked sternly at her.

She nodded. It was grudging compliance, but she did appear to acquiesce. That, at least, was a blessing.

Snape knew what he would have to do, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He had hoped that his spy days were over, but with predators like Malfoy about, he knew they never would be. As long as there was the threat of danger, those who could had to work to put out the sparks before they became fires. And he had to get to those fires before his wife and her reckless friends did.

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Hermione went to bed alone, conscious of the empty spot on her husband's side. They had said little to each other as they took the floo back to Hogwarts, neither one of them acknowledging any of their heated words or the unwanted meeting with Malfoy, keeping whatever conversation they had stiffly civil and ordinary. It was a dance Hermione was getting used to performing every time she and her husband had a spat. She watched, she waited, and she tried to figure her next move, but after a reserved, quiet supper, he left their rooms, telling her not to wait up for him...

She sensed where he was going, of course. She couldn't say how she knew it, but she felt certain he was checking into the situation at Malfoy manner, doing the very prowling and snooping he had all but ordered her not to do. Or, maybe he was simply consulting the other members of the Order.

Perhaps she was being selfish, but she wished he had waited and talked to her about it, told her what he was going to do. But that was ridiculous. He _never_ confided in her. Why should he? She wasn't in the Order. She was still a student, someone he obviously believed too young and inexperienced to involve in these matters. She should be glad he was working with the Order to help her poor friend, but perversely, she wished he had stayed with her.

Shockingly, Hermione knew the real reason she wanted him home tonight was even more selfish and ridiculous. She wanted to sleep with him. She had been looking forward to the way he made her feel, the magic in his hands, his lips, and his body. But how stupid! This was an arranged marriage, a forced union. She shouldn't actually WANT to shag snarky Severus Snape! Except that she did. He had made her think about it today, and sex was the one aspect of her marriage that was really, really good...

Something must be wrong with her, but she couldn't help wishing she was in his arms and he was kissing and caressing her, mastering her, taking her... How could a person's body turn against them like this? If Snape ever knew... If her friends ever knew! But she wouldn't tell anyone. This was one weakness she would keep to herself. Blowing out the candle, she tried to shut out images of what she would have been doing that night if Lucius Malfoy had only stayed home. It didn't do to dwell on such things. She would only get hurt...


	14. Christmas Shopping and Muggle Magic

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 14: _Christmas Shopping and Muggle Magic_**

"Oy! 'Mione, look at this one! Her bust is busting right out of it! And this one's all made up of beads and feathers. No wonder it gets a thumbs down. Muggles are mad, you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Tonks was perusing _People Magazine's _"Best and Worst Dressed at Cannes" issue. The concept of madness was a relative thing.

"Who's Reese Witherspoon, and what's Cannes?" asked Tonks turning the page to view Madonna in a Chinese red gown with thigh high slits.

"Reese is an actress and Cannes is a film festival held in France."

Tonk's face lit up. "Film?The type of Muggle pictures that move? Crikey! I'd like to see some of those!"

"You mean you've never been to the movies Tonks?" Hermione exclaimed, almost shocked, yet trying to keep her voice down. "I thought your father was a Muggle," she added in a whisper.

"Muggle-_born _'Mione, not Muggle. And once he married Ma, he tried to stay away from Muggle stuff. Not that it helped him much. Her family never accepted him. Bunch of stuck-up pureblooded gits! Oh, look at this one! I'd give it a thumbs down too. Makes her look three months pregnant!"

Hermione didn't say anything. Demi Moore probably _was _three months pregnant in that picture. The few people nearby who hadn't been paying attention to them before looked up briefly at the word "pregnant." She nudged Tonks and hissed at her to keep her voice down and remember where they were.

Tonks looked suddenly surprised and guilty. "Oh! Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry," she said before turning another page to lose herself again in goggling over Halle Barry dressed in skin tight purple leather, and Jude Law at the beach in a Speedo. Their neighbors went back to ignoring them and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't supposed to draw any attention to themselves here.

She and Tonks were in the waiting room of the West Side Women's Clinic, a drab, institutional sort of office that specialized in family planning services. It was one of those clinics frequented by London's poorer classes and Hermione felt a little out of place. She would have preferred to have gone to her old family doctor for her birth control checkup, but this cheap little clinic, while short on comfort and ambiance, provided the value of anonymity. Contraception, for those impaled upon the Marriage law, was a criminal offense. She had to blend in with the masses of Muggle London, her appearance disguised, her identity an alias, in order to get what she needed to keep from conceiving a baby Snape.

So far, it had worked. No Severus Jr. yet!But she had to renew her prescription, and while Hermione could have brewed any wizard contraceptive potion, she had no idea how to manufacture her own Ortho-Cyclin. That had to come from a Muggle chemist, and such needed to see a doctor's script first, which was why she was back at this clinic.

The other patients in the room were a humble lot, most of them poor, few of them happy. She wondered how many of them were here for abortions.Hermione had always detested the idea of abortion, killing one's unborn child simply because it was inconvenient. How could anyone do that? Sadly, now that she had come within a heartbeat of suicide, Hermione felt she understood the sort of desperation that could lead a person to make such tragic choices.Why wasn't there another way?

She wondered what would happen if she became pregnant in spite of her precautions. Would Severus insist she abort it? _I have no desire to father children.. _Hermione couldn't really imagine that. No matter how he felt, that prickly honor of his would make him accept her child. But she shivered at the thought of his anger and disappointment. She had to keep carefully taking these pills, even if a very small part of her wondered what it would be like to have a child by him-- an innocent Snape she could raise in love, a Snape who would never be tortured by a past he couldn't speak of...

Tonks was chortling over something else she was reading. Hermione had taken the young Auror with her for companionship and moral support, and because her husband had forbidden her to traipse about Muggle London alone. Tonks had been delighted to come with her again, and they had planned a day of Christmas shopping after visiting the clinic, but Hermione was beginning to wish that she had disregarded Snape's patronizing orders and come alone. Tonks was driving her crazy.

Technically, her name was now Nymphadora Lupin, but Remus saw no harm in his wife being referred to by her maiden surname-- or anything else she wanted either. The two had married shortly after she and Severus had, and they were still basking ecstatically in a haze of honeymoon bliss.While Hermone was happy for them, she found their gushingly sweet behavior nauseating. They tickled and kissed each other in public, called each other sugary little love names, and giggled and cooed like moonstruck teenagers. Tonks prattled on and on about the joys of married life. Hermione heard all about how cute Remus was when he snored, the adorable little tufts of hair that grew on his toes, and the funny things he whispered in bed.

Unlike Hermione, Tonks seemed to have no inhibitions at all when it came to discussing sex. She would have spilled many more details of her intimate moments, so happy was she to be actually having them, had not Hermione's awkward and embarrassed silence made her pause. Of course she interpreted this silence in exactly the wrong way.

"Oh. Um. Sorry. I suppose I shouldn't go on about that. Forgot it must be hard for you, married to Snape and all. Probably rather not think about it, huh?"

"Well, actually," Hermone had admitted with a blush. "The sex is the best part of my marriage."

Strangely, Hermione had felt relieved to be able to say this. Her marriage was a taboo subject with her friends. She wanted to share with someone how disturbing it was to discover herself attracted at times to someone she shouldn't be attracted to.An ugly someone, a nasty someone, a someone everyone else despised, who often made her angry. Why did the memory of their intimacies stir her so?

"Huh." Tonks frowned dubiously with incomprehension and disgust. Snape obviously wasn't a person Tonks would even _think _about having sex with. "Remus told me Snape had reputation with women when he was younger, but I didn't believe him. I mean who'd a thought?"

"What did he say?" Hermione's morbid curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"He said Snape got around almost as much as my cousin Sirius did. They didn't have the same _type _of reputation, of course. I mean, half the school was in love with Sirius! But Remus says many of the same girls used to sneak around with Snape on the sly." She paused and grimaced wryly. "Sirius was the boy you took home to mother, but Snape was the boy you let in the window when mother was out. Girls messed around with him but didn't actually _date_ him."

Hermione had been quiet for a few moments as she tried to picture a brooding, teen aged Snape as a backdoor man, a Wizarding James Dean style rebel."I wonder how he felt about that," she had mused.

"Felt about what?"

"Being used but not really wanted."

Tonks had shrugged. She obviously had never considered the idea from this angle and had difficulty doing it even then. "That has to be the way he wanted it. I mean, that's the way bad boys are, isn't it?"

There had been no reply Hermione could make to that. Sadly, Tonks wasn't the person she so needed to confide to. While friends, they weren't on the same page. They weren't even reading the same book.

So Severus had been the bad-boy secret lover. Was that why she occasionally found herself so attracted to him? Was she one of those girls that lusted after the dangerous types? She had never thought of herself as that sort of person. Bad boys like Draco Malfoy or Blaise Zabini had never, _ever _sparked her interest, and she had been rather afraid of Severus before she had married him, never attracted. It had to be just the sex, and Snape's lethal level of experience.

Her mind strayed back to last weekend's encounter. After staying out all night following their trip to Diagon Alley, Severus had offered her no explanation of where he had been, or why he had been gone so long. He had come back haggard and hollow-eyed, and to her expressions of concern had only said, "It isn't the first time I've gone without sleep." But he hadn't forgotten his proposition to her after all. That evening, tired or not, as she sat in their study reading her new book, he had lifted it out of her hand, led her firmly into the bedroom, and proceeded to make love to her with a level of intensity that had bordered on the frightening, as well as being very, very exciting.

Afterwards, as they drowsed together, Hermione had tried one more time to get him to tell her where he had been. Perhaps after all that passion, he would be more vulnerable to letting his guard down. That didn't happen.

"I was a spy, Hermione. Don't think you can get me to kiss and tell."

"But I am your _wife!_ A wife needs to know where her husband is going!"

"A _good _wife respects her husband's wishes!"

"A good _husband _doesn't make her worry! What if you didn't come back at all? Who would I go to? Who would I ask? How would I know what to do to help you?"

Severus' reply had been a quiet, sardonic snort. "No problem there. If I never came back, you could consider your worries over, couldn't you?"

Hermione had shook suddenly with blinding, spitting fury. "What an AWFUL thing to say! I don't think that way! I'm not _like _that!" She hadn't been able to stop the tears. How could he treat her so good one minute and insult her the next? Of course it was only her body he had been good to.

There had been a couple of still, miserable moments where she had struggled to hide her tears and had failed terribly. Then Snape had finally broken the silence.

"That was vile even for me, wasn't it?" he had whispered. "I am a nasty person, Hermione, but I know you are not. You _wouldn't _think that way. I apologize." He had turned then to her and sighed. "I will tell you as best as I can where I am going, and when I shall be likely to return. I expect, of course, that you will do the same for me. What I cannot tell you is any Order business. You are not a member of the Order and you cannot become one while still a student. You can join when you finish University."

"Maybe I'll just skip University and become your apprentice." Her tone had been sullen.

"The Order doesn't accept apprentices either. Nice try. Go to University, Hermione. Enjoy being a student. Such things don't last and there is always time later to risk your life."

That conversation was the reason she had been forced to drag along Tonks, who was gleefully pouring over a back issue of _Glamour_. Severus wanted a say in where she went too.

"Hey, 'Mione! Read this! Six sex tips to bring out the wolf in your man! Are they kidding?"

Before Hermione was forced to reply, the receptionist called, "Miss Herman?"

A nurse weighed her, took her blood pressure, and led her to one of the examining rooms where a doctor asked her questions. Did she have any pain or discomfort? Spotting between periods? Dizziness or fainting spells? Tenderness in her breasts?

In between the doctor's questions, Hermione fired off a few of her own. They had given her pamphlets with only general information. She wanted to know what was IN the medication. How were hormones synthesized? What were the ingredients? There had to be a way to do this herself! When he told her that the first synthetic estrogen came from South American yams, experimental possibilities bubbled up in her mind. The doctor was just mentioning the companies that made the drugs, when the nurse knocked on the door and put her head into the room.

"Doctor Malfoy is on line one for you. It's about the conference tomorrow."

"Excuse me," he said. "I have to take this."

Hermione felt like she had been hit with a club. There was a _Doctor _Malfoy? A Muggle Malfoy? Could there be a connection between the Muggle world and that awful Wizarding family? The Malfoy name was rare, but surely there could be others, elsewhere in the world, who shared it. When the doctor got off the phone, Hermione had one more question for him.

"Did she say that was a Doctor Malfoy?"

"Yes," he said as he wrote her prescription. "Doctor Lilly Malfoy. Perhaps you've heard of her?"

"I've heard the name Malfoy before, but I can't remember where I heard it. Perhaps I read it somewhere."

"You may have read of her," he said as he tore the prescription off the pad. "She's very well known, a foremost specialists in women's reproductive health. She helped set up many of the clinics here in London-- this one in fact." He handed Hermione the prescription and took down a framed picture from the wall. "This was taken at the groundbreaking ceremony. Dr. Malfoy is on the right."

Hermione took the picture and examined the grainy image. The one identified as Dr. Malfoy was a sixtyish woman, with short gray hair, wearing a severely tailored suit. The caption read, "Dr. Lilly Malfoy, advocate for women's health, opens clinic in needy district."

It took all her strength to stifle a laugh. Muggles named Malfoy doing charitable public works? What a scream it would be if Draco Malfoy was less of a purebred than he let on, if he had secret Muggle relatives! Maybe these Muggle Malfoys came from some long ago Malfoy squib. Hermione smiled inwardly. It would be grand to see that arrogant brat taken down a peg, and it might just do him good! Perhaps she would do a little research into this if she ever got the time. She picked up the new prescription jauntily, and went back out to the waiting room to join Tonks.

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"Two firewhiskeys. Ogden's, if you have it."

The bartender's gaze shifted to Lupin sitting at their table and then back at him. Severus gave him a steely stare and the man hurried to get their drinks. Snape's face was safely impassive, but inwardly he was writhing. He had never intended to spend the day with Remus Lupin, and he honestly wished he were anyplace else-- especially since they were going to shop for Christmass presents!

He had only himself to blame, he supposed, since he was the one who had insisted that his wife take Tonks along with her. London was a dangerous place even for a witch. An Auror with her would be good protection. But Tonks had arrived at Hogwarts armed with her new husband, and while Severus had innocently thought only to confer with him on Order business, he had somehow been roped into this ghastly social outing. He had no idea how that happened.

Lupin smiled genially as Severus approached with the drinks, and didn't seem put off by his disagreeable manner. Snape wanted to throw the whiskey at him. Why in the world did the man insist upon stopping for a drink? Why not just go to a store, buy something, and be done with it? Surely he had to realize that Severus was not in the habit of frequenting pubs! Or did Lupin think that a drink or two would make Snape more sociable? He was in for a disappointment! Severus Snape could consume prodigious amounts of alcohol and still be in top sarcastic form. Firewhiskey simply sharpened his bite. He put the drinks on the table and slid one over to Lupin.

"Ah, Thank you, Severus," he beamed. "Just the thing on a cold day!" He raised his glass. "To marital bliss!"

Snape almost choked. Marital bliss? Was this a joke? Was Remus poking fun at Snape's farce of a marriage? A second's consideration of Lupin's honest, open countenance made him discount it. Such subtle cruelty really was out of character for this man. Remus was a mild, good-natured person, forever the peacemaker-- providing he didn't have to go up against his friends. Digging for patience, Severus forced himself to smirk, raised an eyebrow, and answered, "Yes, quite," before raising his own glass.

The first few sips burned their way down his throat as he mused on how odd it was that he was sharing a drink with a werewolf. Lupin actually appeared to want his company, to establish some sort of association with him-- and not simply out of a patronizing sense of moral duty. He seemed to want to be his friend. _Amazing._.._Possibly pathetic_. After all the things that had happened between them, after the events of their shared past, how could Remus Lupin ever expect that Severus Snape could be friends with him?

Of course, it _was _possible that Lupin regretted the past. He hadn't really been an active participant in the sports of Snape-baiting, Snape-ambush, Snape-torture, and general Snape-persecution that James and Sirius had practiced. He had held back-- guilty by association, hesitant, embarrassed, possibly ashamed. But he hadn't tried very hard to stop his beloved friends from making Snape's school life a living hell. Even Longbottom would have had more backbone... He had just stood by. Perhaps he now felt guilty.

Was he trying to make amends? Severus had reformed of sins that had been far worse. Certainly Remus, guilty only of petty weakness and collusion, could also repent-- and Severus would be expected to forgive him because that was the price of reformation. Reformed sinners had to forgive as they had been forgiven. But to act as if those years of pain were nothing was a vile potion to have to swallow. Hell, it STILL hurt! It still bothered him that he had been treated so badly and that nobody had cared. He knew it was wrong to dwell on it, but nursing this grudge had been one of the ways he had kept from brooding on other, worse, things.

An odd thought struck him. He had always believed Lupin felt sorry for him, and he had hated him all the more because of it. It was soul-scorching to be pitied by those one secretly envied-- and he had envied Lupin. Werewolf, or not, Remus had belonged. He had been part of a close, loyal group. But it occurred to Snape that perhaps it was Lupin who was now to be pitied. With James and Sirius dead, Remus had few contemporaries, and fewer still who would own him. He was a werewolf and people shunned him. Even here, there were tables empty around them, though patrons stood about the bar. People flashed Severus strange looks (which he returned with cold, arrogant disdain) for sitting with Lupin. Perhaps the reason Remus was reaching out to Snape was because he actually needed him. Imagine that.

Snape's habitual reaction would have been to shove it back in his face. Now was the moment he could repay some of the hurt he had suffered and get some long awaited vengeance. But he didn't. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold, and Severus found to his surprise that he didn't have the taste for it. There was something about the pathos of the situation, the irony of this tentative, mute appeal that touched him. James Potter's second best friend was now so hard up for companionship that he sought it in Snape. Severus suddenly did pity him a little.

Only a little. He still envied him. Remus was loved and Severus wasn't, although he had always outshone him before. Lupin, the shy and self effacing, the dull and the drab, had never had luck with women. Snape hadn't been popular, but he had possessed a sort of dangerous, bad-boy charm that had attracted girls. They had come to him in secret, curious and daring, fascinated by his growing reputation as a lover. Sex had been a sport Snape had found easy to master, but he had never been wanted for anything beyond that-- and always, _always_ in secret. No one had wanted Severus Snape as a boyfriend.

Now Lupin had the real thing and he was happy. Not that Snape saw anything remarkable in Tonks... He remembered her from his classes as a gauche, clumsy girl who spilled ingredients and ignited cauldrons. How she ever became an Auror, he never knew-- except that she was tough and persistent, the type that prevailed through sheer stubbornness. She wasn't the sort he was attracted to. There was little that was soft and feminine, or subtle and refined about Tonks. And she was virtually allergic to books. But she loved Lupin, and Severus was jealous. Hermione was the superior wife, she didn't love him.

As Snape eyed Remus, who was gamely attempting to engage him in small-talk, he was inwardly wrestling with unwilling pity, and bitter, jealous revulsion. Why was he always in situations where he was pulled both ways? He felt a bizarre duty to stand by the werewolf, as one outcast to another, but he wished with all his might that it could be anyone other than Lupin.

Even had there been no bad blood between them, he was not the sort Severus would have sought as a friend. He found nothing compelling or interesting about him, nothing that struck a chord of common interest. Lupin was boring. He wasn't particularly brave, bright, skilled or learned. He was simply _there_-- steady, lackluster, unexceptional in everything but his lycanthropy, and the fact that he was kind. Snape begrudged him that kindness, and the weird obligation that he felt to be somewhat decent back. It appeared one couldn't really choose one's friends after all. He downed the last of his firewhiskey.

"Well, shall we get on with it and assault the Alley?"

"By all means, Severus. After you."

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"There it is, Tonks, Herrod's. The best Muggle shopping experience in London. I can't believe you've never been there!"

"Well, I've never shopped for Muggle presents. We have a lot already. Why don't we go to the Alley for the rest?"

"Because I've still got Muggle relatives to buy for, and I can't get them anything at a wizard shop. Besides, you can't go through life in Britain, even as a witch, without seeing Herrod's!"

Doing Christmas Herrod's style had been a Granger family tradition. Hermione's earliest memories of Christmas, beyond the one or two treasured gifts she had received, centered on the excitement of the family shopping trip to London. She remembered fondly the music, the glitter and the lights, and the dazzling items in displays too high for her to reach. Even with her parents gone, she still wanted to keep that tradition, and to share it, if she could, with someone else.

Hermione tried very hard not to think of her parents that much. Their loss was too recent, and it still felt unreal. She no longer occupied the world that they had lived and died in, and she didn't want to bring it closer. She and Tonks had visited the wizard cemetery where Mr. and Mrs. Tonks were buried, but she refused all her friend's offers to accompany her to the graveyard where her own parents lay. She didn't want to go there. She didn't want, or need, to see it. She knew they were dead. What good would it do? It was bad enough that she had to move her family's possessions out of storage over the holidays. Why subject herself to more grief? At least carrying over this old tradition had a good feeling. Her last memories of her family at Herrod's were pleasant ones.

Tonks had not been impressed with the Muggle shops they had visited so far-- the antique shops, the candy stores, the gift shops that sold decorative glassware, and most especially the book store. She had paced and fidgeted while Hermione had perused the books, being such an irritant that her friend had spent far less time there than she would have liked. Tonks had viewed Hermione's purchases with amazed scorn.

"You're buying Snape _books?_ Doesn't he have enough?"

As if you could ever have enough books! Hermione had thought carefully about Severus' Christmas present, and of course it would be books. She felt instinctively that Snape would find them a far more personal gift than clothing or magical artifacts, and she already knew what he might like best.

The library at Snape Manor had lots of Muggle literature-- classics, mostly, and a few modern novels, but most of the scientific references were old. He had nothing newer than Einstein. There were no books of modern technology or theory, so she bought him a boxed set of Stephen Hawking's: The Universe in a Nutshell, and A Brief History of Time. For good measure, she also included The Elegant Universe, by Brian Greene. After all, String Theory was no stranger than some wizard ideas, and the truth might be stranger still! Tonks had shaken her head at these volumes, regarding the bright, odd illustrations as proof positive that Muggle society was crazy.

But she absolutely loved Herrod's! Hermione watched her goggle in appreciation of the clean opulence and rich, businesslike ambiance of the London superstore with a feeling of vindication. This, after all, was her heritage. She wasn't ashamed of being Muggleborn and it irritated her that much of Wizard society regarded their non-magical neighbors as some sort of ignorant savages or children-- a stupid way to think, considering how much they outnumbered wizards.

The contrast between this store and Diagon Alley couldn't have been greater. Here were multiple floors of brightness and spaciousness, an artful combination of shiny surfaces of glass, mirror, and chrome softened by traditional ornamentation. Wizard stores tended to be small, dim, candle-lit, and cozy. No shop in Diagon Alley would have been out of place two hundred years ago. Wizard focus was on the ancient and venerable while Muggles loved the new. The vitality and color of this very traditional superstore made wizard shops seem provincial, shabby, and drab.

And the transient quality of Muggle fashion was also beyond comprehension. Wizard fashions _did_ change, but the changes were slow and rather subtle. When it came to clothing, there were only so many variations possible with basic robes. How Muggles could wear embroidered jeans one year and patched ones the next ( "'Mione look! These pants are _frayed_!") Was totally non-sequiter. Muggle technology was even more mystifying. Non-magical technology had grown faster than Wizarding society could keep up with, and few even knew it-- or cared.

"What's this I-Pod?" asked Tonks, examining the latest from Sony.

"It's a device you carry with you that plays music."

Tonks frowned. "Music comes out of here? I thought Muggles couldn't do magic. How does it work?"

"It's electronic," Hermione explained. "Electronics is sort of like electricity. It works with electrons flowing through wires, except that it uses batteries and chips and..." She stopped at the glazed look coming into Tonks' face. No one wanted to listen when she tried to explain technology. "It's a kind of Muggle Magic," she concluded.

"Crikey." Tonks put down reverently as though it was an artifact of a alien race, which to her it was.

Hermione sighed. Wizards were so pig-headed when it came to Muggle science! Their world was narcissistic. Magic made them superior, and anything that wasn't magic didn't interest them. They were a proud, closed society, associating only with each other, following their own sports, learning and practicing their arcane arts. But magical innovations were slow in development. Wizards looked smugly backward while Muggles looked eagerly forward. Hermione felt another surge of pride in her heritage-- in advancements like genetic research, and nanotechnology. One day, "Muggle Magic" might overshadow traditional magic, and wizards might find themselves suddenly left behind...

Tonks didn't care about Muggle science but she was having a grand time finding the perfect present for Remus. She was currently considering a pair of leather pants.

"What do you think of these?"

"Do you know his Muggle size?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Tonks looked at her blankly.

"It may not fit him, you know. And besides, they'll only be hidden under his robes."

"Yeah, you're right. Hey, look at these shorts!" she dragged Hermione over to a display of novelty underwear. "There's writing all over them, and pictures. This one says 'No!No!No!', but it glows in the dark, 'Yes!Yes!Yes!' It's perfect! Even if it _was_ hidden under his robes, _I'd _know it was there."

Hermione shuddered. If she gave such a thing to Severus, he'd clean cauldrons with it...in her presence! She wondered, with a pang, if her husband would even bother to get her a present. It wasn't as though they had a _real _marriage. She hurried to drag Tonks away from a jewelry display where she was examining ear rings in the shape of wolves.

"Remus doesn't have pierced ears," she cautioned.

"Oh, no problem. I can do that!"

"They're silver."

"Oh."

After helping Tonks pick out a nice bathrobe to go with the boxers, Hermione steered them to toiletries to buy an aunt some perfume.

"Wow, aromatherapy. I didn't know Muggles knew about stuff like this! This one's perfect. _'Peace and Relaxation, _an antidote to insomnia.' Remus has such awful nightmares after his transformation, and he can't get back to sleep. Poor lamb, I wonder what he dreams."

Hermione nodded gravely. Severus had had another nightmare two nights ago, waking her up from a sound sleep with loud moaning. She had been afraid to wake him up, considering what had happened the last time, but she couldn't leave him to suffer. She had shaken him gingerly and eventually he had awakened to clutch at her tightly, chest heaving, expression wild. But he had done nothing more than cling to her, almost painfully, and in reaction to her obvious apprehension had said harshly, "You needn't worry. I am in control of myself!" And he had carefully withdrawn from her.

"Can I help you, Severus," she had asked, after a few awkward moments. "Perhaps I can get you a potion."

"I'll be all right." His voice has been tight. "Go back to sleep."

He had gotten up and left, perhaps to take a potion, and had stayed away for a while. When he did come back to bed, he lay still and unmoving, obviously awake, far into the night.

Hermione had been sleepless for a long time too, wondering if she should say something to him, if she should touch him or speak to him. It was plain he needed comfort, but she had had no idea what to do, what he would allow her to do, or what he would do in return.

She wondered what Tonks did when Remus woke up screaming. She could imagine tender moments of love and comfort, comfort that would be appreciated. Hermione was suddenly rather jealous of Tonks. She had someone who loved her and would let her love them back.

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"How about a self-inking quill?"

"She already has two of them."

"Perhaps a new cauldron?"

"For _Christmas? _Honestly, Lupin, she is my _WIFE."_

"Yes, well, I can see how a cauldron wouldn't be quite festive enough. How about perfume? This one looks nice-- _Hot Arabian Passion."_

"Indeed," scoffed Snape, taking a dubious sniff and grimacing. "Asking her to bathe in incense would have the same effect, and would cost less."

"Perhaps not, then," consoled Remus with that constant, irritating affability. "But don't worry. We'll find something."

Snape rolled his eyes. The ordeal that had started at the pub had now progressed to the torture level. Unless it was for potions or books, Snape heartily disliked shopping-- and he _detested _Christmas shopping. The holiday was a dismal time for him, and had always been. He had never received or given a present in his life. At school, it had been particularly painful. Beyond the joke gifts Slytherin boys usually gave each other, his spot under the tree had been conspicuously bare. Going home for the holidays had actually seemed good to him-- a lesser of two miseries. It took a lot to make him _want _to go home.

"A new book would always be good for Hermione," suggested Lupin.

"I bought her a book last week." Yes. The book she had been reading in plain sight the other night. Could she have been sending him a hint? No, that couldn't be.

"Hmm. Now here's a beautiful set of silver combs and brushes." He pointed but carefully did not touch.

Snape picked up a comb as if to consider it, but put it down and moved on. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to draw attention to Hermione's hair. She seemed sensitive about it, as though she thought it unattractive. Could she honestly not realize how beautiful she was? Hadn't he shown her how lovely she was to him those nights when she lay in his arms? But of course she would only see that as lust-- the animal desire of a lecherous man who had her at his mercy. She had no idea that he loved her heart and mind, as well as her body, because he couldn't tell her. He couldn't even find her a proper Christmas present!

Lupin had done most of the shopping so far. He had joyfully picked over silly, ridiculous items to find a gift for Tonks. Remus had little money, and he looked it. He was also a known werewolf. Shopkeepers pointedly ignored him, and might not have waited on him at all, had it not been for the presence of Snape, whom they eagerly acknowledged. Lupin dragged him from store to store-- mild, genial, patient, encouraging; while Severus, bound by a duty he resented, galvanized the vendors into courtesy. It would have been hard to determine who was the nursemaid and who was the charge, and the irony wasn't lost on Snape.

Lupin bought Tonks a set of gloves ("She's always losing hers,") an enchanted umbrella that repelled rain for a foot-wide radius, and a pouch of Peruvian Dark powder from Weasley's. Snape would have rather cut his wrists than enter there, but found himself doing it as part of his reluctant duty. He bore it with his usual bad grace, and the twins grinned impudently at him, smug with their new success. They offered him ghastly products-- ridiculous wands that turned into rubber chickens, candies that made one sick, or perfumes that smelled of pizza or beer ("To attract a mate, mate!") Severus couldn't exit the place fast enough.

"Does she collect anything? Art? Crystal? Talismans?" They passed shops with windows full of magical collectibles.

"Aside from books, no." Madam Malkin's was coming up. Should he buy her new robes?

"What about a negligee?" Lupin's friendly voice held subtle hints of innuendo as he pointed to a lovely concoction of red satin and lace that was hanging in the window-- something that would look delicious on Hermione's sweet curves.

Snape recoiled visibly. That would be the WORST thing he could give her! It would only confirm what she already thought-- that he had married her out of lust. Not that he hadn't driven that particular idea home with a vengeance the other night... What must she think of him? He was finding it increasingly hard to keep his hands off her, and when he did give in to his passion, it was difficult to hold anything back. The fact that she ended up enjoying it was beside the point.

It was the guilt he had felt for unleashing his passion so violently, that had led him to make that boorish remark when she had asked him to explain where he had been the night before. The memory still made his stomach turn sour. He had taken her body and then insulted her. He had apologized after, but what use were words? Why did he always end up hurting the very person he loved?

"There's always jewelry."

Severus looked up. There was a jewelry shop ahead of them. Well, why not? It was the classic gift of last resort for clueless husbands, and he had to get her _something._ Remus smiled as he ushered Severus into the store, and tactfully stepped back to let him browse unhindered. Snape eyed the various treasures, while Lupin peered wistfully at what he couldn't afford. At least Snape was lucky enough to have means.

What should he get? Did Hermione even wear jewelry? It mustn't be something too cheap, but it shouldn't be anything too elaborate either. What if she didn't buy something for _him_? But, of course she would.. She got EVERYBODY a gift. He looked and looked. "I'll take that!" He said suddenly, pointing to something promising-- a locket of entwined gold and silver, adorned with a ruby and an emerald.

"Excellent choice, sir," purred an unctuous shopkeeper, lifting it out of the case. It suddenly seemed too small.

"Why Severus. How romantic! I didn't know you had it in you!" said Lupin at his shoulder.

"You still don't," Snape answered shortly.

"For a Slytherin-Griffindor union?" The jeweler winked.

"Just wrap it!"

Lupin was beaming at him in a way that made him shudder. _Remus knew._ Perhaps he had known all along. Had Severus been that obvious, or was this a werewolf's animal instinct? Snape suddenly felt very vulnerable, and angry at himself-- and Lupin-- for it. He pocketed his purchase and stalked out.

"There's nothing wrong with being in love, Severus," said Lupin, catching up with him later.

"I don't know what you are talking about, and if you say anything to Hermione, I won't be responsible for what happens to you!"

"You needn't worry. I won't tell her. You will... Eventually."

Snape glared at him poisonously. Lupin clapped him on the shoulder, and the poisonous look became lethal.

"If I can be loved, so can you. It's a miracle that can happen to anyone."

Severus shook his head stiffly and turned away. Since when had he ever known a miracle?


	15. Echoes in Time

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates

**CHAPTER 15**: **Echoes in Time**

A few days before Christmas, Hermione traveled with Severus to the London facility where the contents of her parents' house were stored. After the Granger's untimely deaths, Professor McGonagall had made arrangements with a Muggle moving company to pack everything. Now that the house had been sold, all that was left of Hermione's childhood was a warehouse space full of furniture and boxes that they were intending to move to the Manor.

Hermone was surprised that Severus would allow her Muggle things in his house. Did he expect their marriage to last longer than they had originally thought? For some reason, this idea didn't bother her the way she knew it should. It wouldn't beso bad to stay married a while longer. Not that she would tell anyone this. She could barely admit it to herself.

It was weird seeing the relics of her childhood home bunched up in a dusty warehouse. Part of her wanted to leave them there, or perhaps, even to throw them away. The home she had grown up in lived safe and complete in her memory, a cherished echo of the past. She wanted to keep it that way. Invading this warehouse was like exhuming the skeleton of a loved one only to realize that the bones had no meaning. People made up a home, not their possessions. Sifting through all these things now seemed as macabre as disturbing a grave.

Everything was stacked up to the ceiling in a tightly wedged jumble. Severus showed her the charm that would shrink each item and deposit it in the trunk he had brought for transit. One, by one, as she raised her wand, the boxes, crates, tables and chairs rose into the air, floated forward, shrank to the size of doll's furniture and dropped into the depths of the trunk. Hermione was suddenly enchanted. Why, it was just what she had used to dream of doing when she was little! _It was just like in that movie!_

Hermione couldn't remember a time when she hadn't wanted to do magic. Even when she was only just learning to walk, she had expected to also be able to fly. It had seemed only reasonable that objects should be able to move without her touching them, or appear or disappear if she chose to make them. Even though her early attempts at this had been unsuccessful, Hermione as a toddler had believed that all she needed was time.

And then, when she had been four years old, she had seen _The Sword and the Stone._ It had been rented for her birthday party, and Hermione had been utterly fascinated by it. She had insisted upon seeing it again, and again, over, and over, until her mother had been forced to purchase it out of exasperation. Hermione couldn't get enough of that movie. One of her favorite parts had been the packing scene where Merlin waved his wand and made all of his possessions shrink to fit into his suitcase. Hermione had tried again, and again, to do the same thing.

In the beginning, the Grangers had indulged their child. Perhaps they had thought it was only a passing phase, or that it was cute. They had let her watch the movie again, and again, run about the house with a pretend wand, and dress up as a wizard. "I'm Merlin!" the little girl had proudly announced to anyone-- friends, neighbors, and strangers alike-- while wearing her wizard get-up. She had made herself a Merlin hat out of an old blue felt jacket, fashioning it as best as she could with needle, thread, and glue, to where it resembled the cartoon magician's pointy headpiece-- complete with the little droopy bend at the top.

Hermione had worn that hat constantly, indoors and out, at play, at meals, even to bed. She took it with her to nursery school, and at the playground, she ran around with the other children, shouting, "Abracadabra!" or "Alekazam!" Perhaps it was the teachers who had advisedher parentsthat it had to stop, or perhaps Hermione's persistent, single minded obsession had begun to worry them. The Grangers were conventional people. Deviance of any kind, unless it took the form of excellence, frightened them. One day, they took her aside and gently, but firmly, explained to her that there was no such thing as magic, and that she couldn't grow up to be Merlin. And they confiscated her hat.

She had been inconsolable. Not only had her parents shattered her beautiful dream, but she was sure, deep in her heart, that they were wrong. They just didn't understand. Hermione _knew _that one day she would be able to do magic. She didn't know how she knew this, but in the logic of children, she just knew. It didn't matter that she hadn't figured how make it work yet. It made no difference that nothing happened when she waved her makeshift "wand." She simply hadn't discovered the right technique! It was frustrating as well as tragic that she couldn't get anyone to see this.

Of course,she mused, as things shrank and dropped into the trunk, eventually they had been forced to see it. As Hermione grew, evidence of her emerging powers caused more than a little tension in the family as weird, unexplained things happened around her. At first the Grangers had shrugged them off as coincidences, but as they began to increase in frequency and intensity, her parents began to show real alarm. They had no idea what was wrong with their daughter and they desperately didn't want anything to be wrong... or different.

She was their only child-- their _brilliant_ only child. Troubling incidents seemed to happen around her no matter what school they placed her in, or no matter what treatment they sought for her. It puzzled and frightened them, and Hermione quickly caught their fear and struggled to conform. She had tried with all her might to stop what she knew was her magic, and to be extra good to please them. But no matter how careful she was, no matter how perfect she tried to be for them, something bizarre or strange would happen wherever she was. It had been joy beyond all imagining when the letter from Hogwarts arrived.

That letter had been the proof of what she had been trying to tell them all along. It had been her vindication. Not only was she magical, but there was a whole world of others like her! Here opened up a bright, happy vista of acceptance in a world where she didn't have to pretend or hide, or be constantly on her guard. Here was a place she could belong.

The last of the shrunken items dropped into the trunk and Hermione closed the seal. Of course, the Wizarding World had not turned out to be the paradise she had innocently imagined it to be. She had discovered early on that it was a place of peril as well as excitement, that evil existed intertwined with the good, and that for many in this community, she would never really belong.

Hermione had done her best to fit in and excel in this new world, and at first her parents had been supportive. In their bewildered relief at finding an answer for their daughter's problems, they had even seemed proud. Their only child wasn't troubled at all. She was _special. _But as time went by, the Grangers began to be less and less pleased with this alien world that was stealing away their daughter. They began to see the dangers in the wizard community and sought to protect their child.

As Hermione grew more and more proficient in magic, her parents did their best to draw her back to the safety of the Muggle world. But Hermione could never go back. How could one be content with black and white when one had seen color? How could one drink only water if one had tasted wine? How could she turn her back on the wonder and excitement that was magic? No matter how much prejudice she faced as a Muggle born witch, Hermione knew that the Wizarding World was the only place for her.

Each year the confrontations between Hermione and her parents became more and more impassioned. Their admonitions became more urgent, and their attitude more angry and disillusioned. What sort of a world made teenagers fight for their lives, or earnestly prepare to do so? In the _normal _world, children went to safe schools, learned normal subjects, and graduated to universities where they prepared for careers. No matter how much Hermione argued that there were places, even in Britain, where children faced more danger in school than she did, it made no difference.

The Grangers had used every means, short of forbidding her from attending, to get her to leave Hogwarts and go to Muggle school. They used logic. They appealed to her loyalty. They brought up every instance of danger to frighten her. Then they chilled her with reproach and disapproval, heaping guilt upon her and flaying her with shame for her selfishness and lack of love for them. As Hermione made ready to apparate to Snape Manor, she remembered, with a shudder, the last encounter she had had with her parents. It hadn't been a pleasant interview.

She could only imagine what her family would think of her now, how they would regard the Marriage Law, and what they would think of her husband, Severus Snape. Hermione thought, sadly, that perhaps it was a blessing that they would never know, considering what their reaction would surely have been. But she didn't like to think about the fact that they had died before she could make amends with them, that they had died bitter and disappointed with her.

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Severus supervised Hermione's sorting of her parent's possessions with covert fascination. He had some basic knowledge of the Muggle world-- how to handle their money, use public transport, walk across a road without being hit by a car, and order in a pub. It was the sort of knowledge most wizards of his class had. He even owned some Muggle clothing, but he had never handled large amounts of ordinary Muggle artifacts, certainly nothing so mundane as appliances. Most of the non-magical artifacts Snape had experience with were connected with art or culture.

"What is this?" he asked dubiously as he picked up a tan metal object that had a plastic chord dangling from it.

"Oh, that's an electric knife sharpener."

"Indeed..." He put it down carefully. "And this?" It looked like some sort of weapon.

"A meat thermometer. It plugs into the microwave."

"Micro-_what_?"

"Microwave. It's an oven that cooks using microwaves-- a sort of light energy-- instead of radiant heat. It cooks faster. Most Muggles have one."

"I see."

That had NOT been part of the curriculum when he had taken Muggle Studies! What other developments had been happening in the Muggle world that wizards like him had been too busy to notice? Unlike many of his peers, Severus didn't believe that the doings of mere Muggles were completely unimportant. One's safety could be compromised by any number of seemingly insignificant things. It suddenly occurred to him that at the rate Hermione was learning magic, and considering her Muggle knowledge, she might soon be more educated, over all, than he was...

"Perhaps you will explain to me the concept of microwave energy at a later time," he ventured carefully.

She smiled at him in surprise. "Sure! I'd be glad to. I've always thought it a shame that more wizards aren't interested in learning Muggle science. There could be so much that could tie in with magic. Even the theories could be useful. But most of my friends think it's stupid to be interested in it." Her voice sounded rueful.

"The master wizard does his best to learn everything he can," Severus said quietly. "To refuse knowledge is profoundly _stupid_."

"Yes," she said absently, as she began rummaging through another large box. "Oh, botheration! What company packed this, Idiot Movers? Everything's just been thrown in willy-nilly! This could take weeks, not days! I'm not even sure where to start."

"Perhaps you should begin with the large objects first in order to make room." Snape gestured at the towering pile of mess. "For instance, do you really wish to keep this sofa?" He pointed to a flower-patterned, overstuffed relic that boasted a coffee stain.

Hermione suppressed a smile. "No. I don't think so. It doesn't fit the decor."

"Good!" he said firmly and vanished it. "And how about this chair?"

Thankfully, Hermione had no emotional attachment to the tables and chairs and weird items with long chords that she assured him were lamps. He picked one up and examined it. Arthur Weasley would be transported with joy to acquire any of these things. When he suggested to Hermione that she save a few for him, she was delighted.

"Oh, he'll LOVE them! I wish I had thought of that! Although, _Mrs. _Weasley probably won't be too happy... She thinks his Muggle hobby is rather embarrassing." She paused thoughtfully. "And maybe she does have a point. I mean, it would make much more sense for him to study the _science _of electricity, instead of just collecting plugs. Perhaps we shouldn't give him too many things."

"Perhaps we should give him the knife sharpener."

The clutter was quickly reduced by vanishing the furniture, and Severus was relieved that Hermione was willing to part with it. The Grangers, though certainly not poor, had lived modestly by his standards. None of the tables and chairs were anything but middle class utilitarian, and well used at that. All would have looked out of place at the Manor. Of course, if she had really wanted to keep something, he would have had his elves restore it.

Severus did find it strange that his wife seemed to bestow no sentimental value to her parents things-- their clothing, bedroom furniture, and decorations. She vanished bedding, pillows, kitchenware, and china. She disappeared paintings, vases, and statuary. The only thing Hermione did want to keep was her old bedroom set, although she seemed hesitant even in this. Severus had the feeling that were he to strongly suggest she get rid of that too, she might have complied with him.

That certainly was odd. Some people clung to every shred of the past when they grieved, while others hung onto nothing. Severus didn't know how he knew Hermione was mourning-- she didn't show any of the classic signs, but he sensed it. Perhaps she grieved without even being aware of it. She reminded him of himself, and if anyone knew how to bury or commute inconvenient feelings, it was him...

Her virginal bedroom set, he sent to a spare chamber, and he schooled his mind carefully away from bedroom activities. Now was definitely not the time to seduce his wife, but the image of the two of them using that sweet, innocent, white bed danced tantalizingly in his mind. Sex would be a lovely diversion, but unfortunately they had a job to do. Business before pleasure... later.

"We should give the Weasley's one of the televisions," Hermione said carelessly, as though disposing of meaningless baggage, "but I'd like to give the other one to Harry-- and my parent's computer too."

Snape looked up sharply at the mention of Potter's name. "What possible use would they be to him?"

"He's having telephone and electric service installed at Grimauld Place so that he can keep connected to the Muggle world. Being able to surf the net would be the perfect way to keep tabs on Muggle life from a safe distance. I think more wizards should connect up. It might actually be faster than using owls."

"Whatever are you talking about, child?" Severus felt completely lost and he didn't like that feeling.

"The Internet, the World Wide Web."

"Those words mean nothing to me." Disturbing images of spiders came to his mind.

"It's a huge electronic library that Muggles all over the world connect to with their computers. I'm keeping the laptop so that I can show you. It's a wireless unit."

"Muggle wireless won't work here, or at the school, if you remember," he answered dryly.

"Oh, that's right! All those unplotablility wards!" She paused for a moment, eyes wide with chagrin, and then sighed, "Well then, I'll just have to go to Harry's house if I want to research anything online. But I'm sure he won't mind."

Snape didn't reply to that. He didn't like the idea of his wife spending time with Potter, even if it was only to work with these mysterious Muggle nets and lines. Severus wanted her all to himself for as long as he could have her, but that was selfish wasn't it? Just as it was also selfish to let her continue to rid herself of everything from her past simply because she couldn't face her grief. Guilt pricked him as he watched her vanish things that she might want later, but he made no move to stop her.

Hermione dug through box after box, tossing away clothing, saving a few books, frowning as she briefly examined papers. Severus watched her vanish her mother's jewelry, and inwardly winced. A couple of the pieces had looked expensive. Obviously, Hermione had no real desire for such things. He thought of the tiny locket that rested in it's box deep in a pocket of his cloak. He had bought the wrong present after all. That small, insignificant bauble looked like something he had picked up without much thought. It wouldn't convey any of his love for her. It would look as though he didn't care.

More and more things disappeared. Hermione moved like a robot, impatient to be done with it all, like a student performing some tedious chore in detention. Reaching into yet another box, she pulled something out, and then suddenly stopped as though hit with a freezing charm. She stared completely transfixed at what she was holding, although Snape could see nothing in it that could account for her strange reaction. There was nothing in her hands except a shabby piece of light blue cloth.

"Oh, my gosh!" she whispered. "They kept it. They kept it all this time!" She stared white faced at the bizarre little object in her shaking hands and then burst into heartbroken sobs.

As always when confronted with an emotional scene, Snape felt awkward and uneasy. He regarded Hermione gravely as she rocked back and forth and cried over that bit of blue fabric, and waited for her to regain control.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I'll be all right in a moment. I know you don't like tears, but I just can't help it." She looked miserably down at her mysterious burden and twisted it slightly in her hands.

Severus pushed his mouth into a wry grimace. "As a husband, I findI ambecoming accustomed to them. Crying seems to be a particularly female occupation."

"Men cry too," Hermione said softly, but then looked up at him with alarmed, stricken eyes, as though suddenly aware she may have crossed some forbidden line and insulted him. "Not that I'm saying _you_ would," she added quickly. "That's a weakness you don't seem to suffer from."

There was a long silence where possibly neither of them breathed.

"There have been times, child," Severus whispered, "when I almost wished I could have."

Snape didn't want to remember the last time he had cried. It had been at the death of his mother, and he had been six. His natural grief had been met with his father's cruel scorn, and only a few hits with the Cruciatus had taught the boy Severus to hide any feelings of sorrow or hurt in a safe compartment deep in his soul. His eyes had remained dry ever since, but that compartment was still there.

Severus understood grief. He just didn't know how to deal with anyone else's. In his sudden surge of tenderness, all he could think of to do for Hermione was to take her in his arms, kiss her, and subject her body to the most prolonged knowledge of pleasure he was capable of giving. After all, that was all he knew how to do. He also knew it wouldn't be appropriate in this situation. Hermione needed something else, something he couldn't give, and he had never felt so inadequate. For want of anything better to do, he decided to keep her talking.

"So, what is it about this particular object that has so much meaning for you?"

This actually seemed to have been a good decision. Hermione relaxed a bit, quieted her tears, and began, in a hesitant, awkward way, to explain the mystery. She absently fingered the piece of cloth, that turned out to be a hat, and related to him the sad events of the first disappointment of her childhood. The story of the little girl who knew she was magic but couldn't get anyone to believe her touched him, but the subtle overtones of guilt in her story he found disturbing. Why should she feel guilty?

He had never given much thought to the feelings of the Muggleborn as they entered his world. Had he considered it at all, he would have supposed them to feel nothing more than gratitude or triumph for having been allowed in. It never occurred to him to imagine any inner conflict or ambivalence. Given his own tortured background, he had no way to understand the difficulties of leaving behind the comforts and traditions of close family and friends.

But what if those family ties were poisoned by fear, misunderstanding, and envy? Would it be hard for families to accept that one of their number was no longer really one of them? Snape had a quick glimmer of insight into the subtle torture his wife had suffered trying to break into his world. Her guilt was suddenly more understandable. She had been pulled in two directions from the very beginning, her allegiance divided between her destiny and her past. Snape understood the strain of a divided allegiance all too well. So, also, had Salazar Slytherin...

Many wizards simpered about purity of blood and believed the nonsense pandered by old, established families. Such idiocy pervaded Slytherin house. Yet Snape had long known that the exclusionary beliefs of Salazar Slytherin had nothing to do with blood. Anyone who bothered to study history, or who actually _read _Slytherin's writings knew this. But who actually read history anymore after suffering so much boredom at the hands of Professor Binns?

_The Wizard World of a thousand years ago would be completely alien to a wizard of today. _The first problem for Muggleborns would have been language. Wizards spoke Latin. Muggles spoke Welsh, Saxon, Norse, or Gaelic-- and these different speaking Muggles didn't get along with each other. Muggleborn wizards would have to put aside family ties to kings, liege lords, or clans, and Slytherin didn't believe they could do this. In the event of a crisis, who would they support, their kings, or the Wizarding World?

Snape could imagine the arguments between the four Founders, and Slytherin's impassioned attempts to convince his friends that their world was in danger. Griffindor would have proudly shrugged off any threat. Ravenclaw would have been too engrossed in her experiments to pay much attention. Hufflepuff would have only fussed with more sympathy over the poor, disadvantaged Muggleborn. The frustration for Slytherin must have festered like a cancer in his soul, as his warnings fell on deaf ears.

It had been the Norman invasion that had finally led Slytherin to break with the other Founders. The Muggle world was going up in flames, and he was certain it would spill over to consume the Wizard World as well. If his world was doomed, he was getting out while he could. _And he would leave a booby-trap behind him to catch all those Muggleborns who were responsible for it's destruction..._

Of course Slytherin had been wrong. The Wizarding World had survived. It had adapted and changed, and it had become stronger. The incursion of so many Muggleborn _was _irritating, but it was not the threat old Slytherin had believed. The real threat had always come from the power-hungry, the stupid, and the weak. Perhaps if Salazar had met someone like Hermione all those years ago, history would have taken a different path. But, Snape mused, it took an open mind to go against the grain and appreciate the new, and the last thing Slytherin had possessed had been an open mind.

"Look! They even saved the movie-- on DVD!" Hermione held up a flat, glossy box that looked as much like a "movie" as a unicorn tail. "And they kept all these pictures too!"

More tears fell as she sifted through a loose box of snapshots. Snape held out his hand, and she passed him some pictures. So that had been Hermione as a little girl, that innocent, bright faced cherub with the comical blue hat. Too bad Muggle photos were so two-dimensional. They could only capture a brief second in time-- the image of the smile, but not the grace of it's movement. He was glad no childhood pictures existed of him. Moving misery was best not preserved.

"I think I can play the DVD on my laptop if the battery still has juice in it. Would you like to see it?"

"By all means." _Juice in it? _What in Merlin's name was she talking about?

The "laptop" was a flat, black box that opened up to reveal a screen and a keyboard. Snape had seen computers before, many years in the past, but this sleek artifact belonged to a completely different species than the bulky, cumbersome machines he remembered. Few had known how to operate those machines. And now, presumably, all ordinary Muggles had them? He watched his wife switch it on, and the screen lit up to display a bright, colorful, panoramic picture.

"Good! There's still a little bit of battery power left." She pointed to a tiny symbol in the top corner that apparently indicated power level.

At her touch on the keys, the pictures on the screen flashed and changed. Severus found it unsettling. To anyone who didn't understand this technology (someone like himself,) it would look like magic. _Muggle magic. _Magic he couldn't do, and magic that if harmful, he had no knowledge of defense against. It made him uneasy to realize that the outside world had been changing at a faster rate than anyone knew.

How stupid the Wizard community had been to go on sitting placidly in the sun, smugly assured of their superiority, while ignoring everything else around them! If Salazar Slytherin were alive to see this, he would have been alarmed out of his mind. And he would have done exactly the wrong thing and either run for the hills, or attacked... Snape felt suddenly very interested in connecting to this "World Wide Web."

"Shall I try to play the movie?"

"Oh, absolutely."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione hadn't watched the old animated cartoon for many, many years. When her parents had taken away her hat and told her not to believe in magic, they had notactually forbidden her the movie. They had simply bought her new ones and hoped she would turn to these instead, and Hermione had complied. She had begun to lose heart with it anyway, and after the first alarming incidents of paranormal activity, she had stopped watching it altogether.

By that time, she was in primary school and had found new parent-approved avenues for her attention. It had seemed better not to even think about the innocent little fantasy movie she had been so obsessed over. One day she had noticed it was missing, but had accepted that as inevitable. She had assumed her parents had finally gotten rid of it. But they had kept it instead, and had even repurchased it in DVD format! Why would they have done that? Tears threatened her again, and she chattered nervously to Severus about the science of movie-making.

"I am not _completely_ ignorant, Hermione," Snape informed her in a dry, testy voice that helped chill the rising heat of her tears. "I do, actually, know how a motion picture camera works! It's theory is similar to the magical processes involved in our own photography, though being Muggle, its' execution is ponderous and crude. I have also attended a cinema."

"But this is different," she said, as she slipped in the DVD. "It's animation. Instead of a camera taking hundreds of little pictures, they have to be painted by an artist. It's moving art, more than moving pictures. I haven't seen anything like it in the Wizard World."

"Humph! Like we don't have moving art?" he murmured sarcastically.

Hermione ignored that as she felt a heartbreaking thrill at the sound of the old, familiar music. She had to fight again to keep down tears. Instead, she focused her attention on her husband, suddenly conscious of the anachronism he represented-- a wizard dressed in old-fashioned robes sitting in front of a computer showing a cartoon about magic. That was definitely weird. Somehow, the bizarre had become normal for her since she had entered the Wizarding World...

Severus studied the images before him with his characteristic, impassive expression. He could have been contemplating the science of animation, critiquing it's artistic expression, or condemning the whole thing as a waste of time, for all Hermione could tell. He seemed completely unaffected...until he saw Merlin. Then his face crinkled into an incredulous smile and he burst chokingly into rusty laughter. Any indignation Hermione might have felt faded at the rare sight of Snape laughing.

"Slytherin's Gallstones! Is THAT supposed to be Merlin? The most powerful wizard of all time? An absent-minded old duffer living in a hut? I might be insulted if it weren't so ridiculously funny!"

Funny? Insulting? Hermione suddenly wondered how her parents would have reacted to a cartoon showing some revered statesman or philosopher in a comical light. She also noticed something she had never realized before.

"You know," she said slowly, "I never thought about it...but he sort of resembles Professor Dumbledore..."

Snape sobered and looked more pointedly at the screen. "You're right. He does-- almost too much so to be a coincidence." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I wonder where old Albus was when this was made. I wouldn't put it past him to have had something to do with it. Either that, or somebody connected with this was a wizard."

"It was made in America," she stated, as if that made a difference.

"Well, that does explain the lack of respect for tradition and decorum, doesn't it?" He paused. "And Dumbledore _has _spent significant time there over the years. Perhaps I should ask him some _questions_."

"You don't really think..."

"The likeness is amazing, Hermione. He'd have a hard time proving he _didn't_ pose for it." He displayed a nasty smile. "I think we should arrange for a private showing..."

"But, that's not a good idea!" Hermione said in alarm. "He might be insulted...or hurt, or.."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! He'd love it. He'd be tickled pink, actually. Although, that's probably just as good a reason _not_ to show it to him. He might make it required viewing, or take to singing that idiotic song at staff meetings, which would be _insufferable_..."

The computer screen flickered and then went blank, and the movie disc popped out the side.

"What happened to it?" he demanded.

"Power ran out," Hermione said ruefully. "I guess nobody's going to get to see it."

Snape gave her a sideways look. "Preserved from temptation after all. How conveniently sad."

A couple of house-elves popped in at that moment. They set down little tables and trays of food, bowed anxiously, and disappeared. Hermione suddenly realized that it was rather late and probably well past dinner. Was there a schedule here? She vaguely remembered eating something earlier, but she had been so preoccupied with the pain of going through her family relics, that she hadn't really noticed what she had eaten. It could have been fried eyeballs for all she had cared. Perhaps the elves were hurt. She looked at Severus questioningly. He seemed unfazed.

"They serve regular meals when I'm here, but if I don't go to the dining room they bring the food to me wherever I am."

Hermione felt a stab of sympathy for the poor elves who labored lovingly in the kitchen, only to have a master too lazy or inconsiderate to come to the table. Human servants, or mothers, wouldn't put up with that. Trying to educate Snape's elves to demand better treatment would be useless. They would never listen to her. But from now on, she decided, the least she could do was make sure no one was late for dinner!

Weariness assaulted her as she picked at her food. She felt too tired to eat much of it, or do any more sorting. Her bones seemed heavy with the sort of tiredness one gets after prolonged crying, and she felt drained of energy as if she had carried a burden for a long distance and had only now just set it down. There was also dust and dirt all over her from mucking about in boxes. Perhaps it was time to stop for the day.

"Do you mind if I call it quits? I'll come back to this mess first thing in the morning. All I want right now is a nice, long bath."

Severus was examining the photographs again. He looked up briefly and nodded, and she proceeded upstairs to find the master bathroom. Hermione wondered what Snape found so interesting in her photos that they would absorb him so intently. Had she looked that strange as a child? Or was he simply fascinated with an upbringing alien to his own?

The bathroom was lavishly, cleanly ornate, with mosaic walls, marble floors, gleaming fixtures, and a sunken tub the size of a small swimming pool. Surprisingly, she found a bath already prepared for her, and a reverent house-elf bowed low before popping out to give her privacy. Hermione realized, guiltily, that it would be all too easy to get used to this slavish service.

She stepped into the hot bath and sank down to her chin. Bubbles danced from vents by her feet, and strong jets swirled about her. A delicious aroma of herbs and flowers rose steamingly into the air. She sighed as she let the fragrant water wash over her tear-grubby face and dusty hair. It was so warm, so luxuriously, utterly warm... The sadness, and tiredness, and hardworking stiffness began to slowly ease out of her, and an odd sense of peace took their place.

This day hadn't been so bad after all. Severus had acted surprisingly companionable. There had been moments when they had actually seemed like friends-- something that didn't always happen. She had also told him the story she had never told anyone else, and after that strange catharsis, she found she could view the past with a little less pain. Sadly, she could see her parents as just ordinary, well-meaning people dragged tragically into something beyond them; and herself as the strange chick growing up in a duck nest-- trying hard to be a duck, all the while knowing she was a swan.

When she finally began to feel too warm, she stepped out of the water and toweled off. A plush, red robe was waiting for her, and after she had wrapped herself in it, the house-elf returned. Hermione didn't have the heart to send the poor creature away. Besides, it felt good to be taken care of, to have her hair dried and brushed for her so kindly and carefully.

After such a long soak,she felt refreshed, newly aware, and invigorated. Heat seemed to radiate from every inch of her, and shewas deliciously drowsy and alert at the same time. Her body felt loose and relaxed, and she wondered, idly, if her husband was asleep, and if he would wake up when she came to bed.Perhaps it would be nice if he did wake up. She might look forward to a little extra comfort... Hermione shook her head. What was she thinking? Perhaps there had been something in the water.

Severus was sitting up in bed reading a book when she entered. His black hair hung damply about his shoulders as though he had just showered, and he was loosely wrapped in a dark green bathrobe. The sight of his pale, white skin showing where the robe didn't cover, brought a disconcerting rush. She knew how warm that skin felt to touch, and she suddenly felt embarrassed, and a little wicked. What girl had lustful thoughts about Severus Snape?

He looked up at her entrance, and lowered the book. There was a loud "Miow!" and Crookshanks bounced down from a chair and sidled over to her. Snape regarded the cat with lazy malice. Hermione sighed. Crookshanks, beloved though he was, had a habit of making a pest of himself around Severus. That definitely wouldn't do right now. She didn't want her husband's mood to sour.

"Interesting book?" she asked Snape brightly.

"Fascinating. It's called _The Magical Properties of Cats._"

Hermione was surprised. "That does sound fascinating!"

"You wouldn't enjoy it. It's a potion's manual."

"Oh."

"Quite. When I discovered I had _company _in our chamber, I took the time to read a few of the recipes aloud. It was most therapeutic."

"That's nasty!" she scolded, bending down to scratch Crookshanks, who looked up at her, purred, and then shot Snape a gloating glance. "Poor Crooks! It's a good thing he doesn't understand what you're reading to him!"

"Never underestimate that beast, Hermione. He's part Kneasle, very intelligent, and understands quite a bit of what I've been reading to him. He also understands that I would never actually _ruin _a potion by putting him in it,evenas I understand that he won't actually shred me to ribbons when my back is turned." Crookshanks examined a claw with studied nonchalance and proceeded to lick it.

"As long as this we have this understanding, we will continue to coexist, but if not..." Snape raised a warning eyebrow and regarded the cat with the sort of dark gaze that students saw in nightmares, while Crookshanks turned his back on him and continued to bathe. Hermione stifled a chuckle.

"I never figured you for a cat person," she said, as she chased Crookshanks from the room and closed the door firmly behind him. "Do you prefer dogs?"

"Hardly! I've never felt a particular affinity for any member of the animal kingdom, and I've never yet seen the need to acquire a familiar. Indeed," he said softly, the corners of his mouth turning up in a sly smirk, black eyes glittering, "the closest I've ever had to a pet has been... _you._"

"OH REALLY?" she retorted, with sudden, surprised heat. "Let me warn you then. I can scratch too!"

"Oh, _please_..." It sounded like the closest thing to a purr the human voice was probably capable of.

Hermione felt a pounding blush creep into her face, and over much of the rest of her too. There ought to be a law against_ anyone_ sounding that sexy! She dug deep for a suitable to reply. She was glad Severus was in a good mood, and she had been surprisingly interested in sex, but this subtle, erotic banter put her at a disadvantage. As always, Hermione felt like the schoolgirl she still was-- awkward and inexperienced compared to the sophisticated man of the world she knew he was. The only way she could meet him on anything approaching equal terms was if her dander was up. Fortunately, that remark referring to her as a pet did just that.

"Well, I suppose, Severus, having _you_ for a pet is less dangerous and troublesome than keeping a Dragon or a Hippogriff!"

"Only a little," He flashed her a wickedly seductive 'come hither' smirk that sent shivers through her, and she found herself approaching him.

He leaned forward, and with smooth, deft movements, unwrapped her from her robe and pulled her closer. "The disadvantage, Hermione, in keeping a man for a pet is that... unlike a woman... a man can never be tamed..."

She almost sputtered a retort but found herself unequal to it. The power of his sheer animal nearness was occupying most of her senses. Snape must have known this because he began to chuckle. Her breath caught expectantly in her throat. She suddenly wanted very much to be kissed.

"Of course, if you are prepared to brave the dangers, keeping a man does have it's rewards. If you stroke him, he will return the favor." His lips nibbled at hers. "Far more rewarding, don't you think? Shall I demonstrate?"

Hermione nodded and climbed into his arms.


	16. The House Without a Christmas Tree

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

_Author's Note: This chapter was supposed to be finished in time for Christmas, but events beyond my control made that impossible. Please forgive the delay. I had the hardest time finishing this chapter. There were so many ideas I wanted to put into it, that I had to create two chapters, instead of one-- and I'm still not completely pleased with it. You've heard of the Never Ending Story. This felt like the Never Ending Edit. Oh, well. Cheers, and belated Merry Christmas!_

**Chapter 16: _The House Without a Christmas Tree_**

Hermione was still sorting through her parents' belongings days later on Christmas Eve. After the furious pace she had set for herself that first angst-filled day, she had decided to take it a bit slower. She already regretted throwing so many things away. Grief couldn't be thrown into a rubbish bin, and trying to do so only made it worse.

It still hurt to see things from her mother's neat, organized house jumbled unceremoniously into boxes. It hurt to find old treasures as she sifted through all the accumulated clutter of everyday life-- precious relics dug from ancient dross. And it hurt, surprisingly, because many of the memories they sparked were good ones. As difficult as life had sometimes been at home, there had actually been more good than bad.

Here was the thermometer with the ceramic robins on it that Hermione had given her mother at age five. It had hung downstairs in the hallway. Here was the china teapot she had given her parents for Christmas. They had never used it because it was too fancy for every day, but it had been carefully kept because it was a gift. Hermione could still recall the shopping trip to Harrods, and the joy at being able to buy them something so pretty.

Buried among the bills and receipts, the magazines and the cookbooks, Hermione found a treasure trove of personal memorabilia. She found sealed little packets containing her first teeth, locks of baby hair, and a meticulously detailed first year diary that recorded, in neat, precise handwriting, exactly when Hermione had slept through the night, rolled over, crawled, and said her first words. She showed it to Severus who eyed it with a bemused expression.

"The hair may come in handy," he said absently, as he scrutinized a page of immunization records. "Scores of potions call for it. A pity they didn't think to save the umbilical cord as well. It is used in some of the better restorative draughts."

"Well, at the time, my mother didn't even know there _were_ such things as potions."

"Still a pity."

Hermione found more pictures of herself as a baby, held in the arms of her proud parents, taken at professional studios, or doing the normal things babies do that grownups find so endearing.

"Why did they photograph you with food all over your face?" He held up a picture of an infant covered in chocolate cake, and another of a toddler wearing a meal of spaghetti.

"I think it's to torture us later, to remind us of how silly we were as babies, and to embarrass us in front of our friends when we're grown up. There's probably a few naked pictures in here too..."

"Ah, yes. Right here." He lifted an appraising eyebrow at a snapshot of a bare, pudgy cherub scampering down a hall. "Well, well, you had those dimples even then..."

"Give me that!" Hermione snatched it away from him and ignored the sardonic chuckles. Her face was pulsing with heat. "Just wait till I find YOUR old pictures! They've got to be somewhere in this house. Then we'll see what's what!"

"Sorry to disappoint you child, but you won't find any. Wizard parents have far more effective methods of torturing their young." His voice was quiet, an ironic hint of long ago pathos and pain. Hermione shivered. Any mention of his past brought a dark reaction from Snape.

She opened a box full of carefully preserved school records and awards-- some dating back to her nursery school days. There were joyful reams of comments from the teachers concerning how advanced Hermione was, how intellectually gifted. Hermione felt her throat tighten. Her parents had once been so proud of her. Every little accomplishment had been hailed and applauded. Every success had been enthusiastically cheered. But there was a poisonous twist in all that. She had to _always _perform.

And she had. The next box was filled with childhood artwork, another contained piles of primary school papers. Shiny gold stars gleamed atop one example after another of perfect spelling tests and immaculate penmanship exercises. A scrapbook containing nothing but report cards, each bearing glowing teacher comments, lay on top of binders full of student essays. But there was nothing there from Hogwarts, not even that first letter.

The absence was chilling. It was as though she had never lived beyond her eleventh year. All those school projects and papers, encased in vinyl binder sleeves, or sealed in carefully labeled zipper bags were like artifacts in a shrine, cherished relics of someone who had died. Except that she hadn't died. They had. And now she was finding their memories of her, like a surprised ghost viewing its own tombstone and marveling that this was all its life was remembered for.

Severus rifled through some of the contents with a wry, twisted expression. "Rather parochial in their choice of memories. One would think they'd show a little pride in you as a witch." He grimaced at a snapshot of an eight year old standing next to a first place Science Fair entry. "I'm surprised they kept that Merlin hat at all."

"I am too." Her voice sounded very small.

She delved into another crate and her face suddenly lit up with joy. Finally! Her parents Christmas decorations-- and just in time! Hermione hadn't yet seen any preparations for Christmas at the Manor, but she hadn't said anything because she had been far too preoccupied with the emotional stress of unpacking. And there was always the chance that her husband's family, like that of her father's, did everything at the last minute. She hadn't wanted to change the routine.

Hermione's father had always seemed amused, and a little exasperated, by the way his wife lavishly decorated their house. The tree, the candles, the wall decorations, and all the other holiday finery would all go up the very first day of December. The cards would go out exactly on time. And everything would be carefully put away, each item in its own little labeled box, on the weekend after Christmas.

By contrast, her grandfather and all her paternal uncles put up their trees on Christmas Eve. Of course, they bought real trees, and the price _was _lower on the last day, but it had all seemed strange to her. Perhaps the Snape family had done the same. But, surely she would have seen some sort of activity by now. She looked up at the clock and found it was almost time for dinner...

"Severus," she ventured, "I've found all my parents' Christmas decorations and I'd love to put them up. Which room will our tree be in?"

"What tree?" he asked shortly. He was currently perusing one of her father's World War II books, and didn't even look up.

"Our Christmas tree, of course!" _What tree, indeed!_

"We never have a Christmas tree here, Hermione. I don't celebrate Christmas."

"No?" Hermione was incredulous. Christmas _was _a religious holiday, but everybody seemed to have a tree, whether they were religious or not. She had even met some families of completely different faiths that had trees at Christmas. It seemed unthinkable not to have one. "Why not?" she demanded.

"It isn't traditional for me, for one thing," he said, turning a page but still not looking up, "My family has never celebrated Christmas. And for another, I'm not a hypocrite. To celebrate a holiday would imply I believed in a god. I don't."

"You don't believe in _any _God? Not even the possibility?"

Severus put down the book and gave her his full solemn attention, dark eyes like bleak burning coals in his somber face. "I have never seen any reason to, Hermione. I am a rational person. Nothing in my life has led me to believe there is a deity, or that if there is one, that such a being is kindly disposed to me."

Hermione considered. All her common sense told her that entering into a religious debate with her husband probably wasn't wise. He had been so companionable lately, so unaccountably easy to deal with. Irritating now might spoil all that, but this was such a familiar argument. She found she couldn't help herself.

"I think there's much more evidence _for _God than there is against," she stated.

"Oh really?" he answered with scorn, "Look at the world we live in. How can there be a god? No god would make a world like this."

That lofty, contemptuous, so-sure-of-himself attitude needled her. She had heard this from someone else, so many times, in the same bitterly self-righteous tone. It was one thing to wonder and question, to reserve judgment on the subject of the Infinite-- most people had doubts, or kept an open mind in the absence of belief. But this sounded like pure petulance, the angry ranting of a hurt child thumbing his nose at heaven. Hermione had meant to have a careful, scholarly discussion, but all her good intentions went right out the window.

"You know, Severus. It really is amazing. You sound so much like Harry."

Snape reacted in predictable fashion. He went extra pale with fury, and his hawk-nosed face took on the dangerous look of a vengeful raptor.

"You dare compare me with _Potter?_" he hissed. "Oh, Don't insult me! That stupid, arrogant, insufferable welp has nothing in common with me!" His voice shook with whispering rage, and the glare he sent his wife was punishing. She didn't flinch.

"Well, he sounds just like you! All he thinks about is the negative. He's angry because he's had a hard life. He thinks that because his parents died when he was a baby, and he had to live with those awful relatives, and be constantly shadowed by Voldemort, that God can't exist."

Her husband appeared to be on the verge of a violent verbal explosion but paused for a moment to consider. Unthinkable though it was, for this argument only, he and Harry Potter actually seemed to agree.

"You don't think he may have a point?"

"The point is that he's angry. He's angry because his life isn't what he wanted, and that he's suffered. He blames God, but because he can't pick a fight with an almighty being, he denies His existence. What Harry forgets is all the _good _things that have happened to him, the people who have helped him, cared for him, and been kind to him. He forgets the little miracles in his life and remembers only the tragedies. All he focusses on is the negative."

"And you think that also applies to me?" His tone was scoffing.

Hermione didn't want to sound presumptuous or condescending. She had to choose her next words carefully, tread softly. The truth was, Harry and Severus seemed very alike-- in all the wrong ways.

"I don't know everything about you, Severus, but I do think there _are_ some similarities."

Snape folded his arms stubbornly across his chest in a severe and lofty manner. "Haven't you seen enough evil, Hermione? Haven't you seen enough death? This world is infused with evil! It goes from war to war, conflict to more conflict. Look at all the horrors the human race inflicts upon itself. And you think there's a god? Would a just, loving god allow this?"

"You're blaming God for the actions of people. You think the world must be perfect for God to exist. What about free will? People choose to do evil, but they can also choose to do good."

He snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "And what about the natural disasters that kill millions of people? What about all the earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and famines? These are 'acts of god' supposedly. What sort of a god would create these?"

Hermione's voice was soft. "The same sort of God that created all the beauty. There are more sunny days than there are storms. For every desert, there are places of plenty. And the impact of most of these disasters would be far less if people took care of each other. But we don't. It's our own selfishness that causes so many of the deaths."

"What about all the sicknesses, the horrible diseases?"

"If we had spent centuries developing better medicine instead of making better weapons, there would be far less disease. Again, it's human choice, not God that's responsible for all the suffering."

Snape shook his head slightly and sneered. "Incredible. Blind faith in the face of cold, hard reason!"

"I don't think faith is unreasonable, Severus! You, yourself, don't doubt the existence of evil. You once told me that the Dark Arts are eternal, ever-changing, and powerful-- like a monster that grows a new, smarter head every time one is cut off. If there is a force for evil, there must be a force for good. If you believe in the Ultimate Dark, can't you believe in an Ultimate Light?"

"Well, providing there is such an 'Ultimate Light', Hermione, what is the evidence that such an entity gives a damn about us? You seem to speak of a personal god, a god who 'cares'. How can you honestly hold to such a belief in the face of all that has happened to you?"

He lowered his voice to a near-whisper as he savagely drove home his point.

"Look at your life, Hermione. Where is God in your life? Look at the Marriage Law! Just because you're a Muggleborn, you've been made into a second class citizen. You've lost most of your freedom, and you've been forced to marry _ME_ just to stay in school! How can you possibly see any goodness of God in that?"

Hermione felt tears prick her eyes. She hadn't wanted to get emotional, but she couldn't help the sudden flash of insight that lit up her mind, the way that events in her life suddenly shifted their orientation to form a new, poignant picture. It was a picture that had to be shared, a conviction that could not be quenched.

"But don't you understand?" she began softly. "That's precisely how I _do _see it!"

She paused for a minute to search for the right words in the face of his hard, mocking expression.

"I should have died, Severus. I was going to kill myself-- the ultimate sin by most religions. But it didn't happen. I used the Avada Kadavra on myself, and it _should_ have worked! I'm strong enough to have done it properly. But somehow, I didn't die. And when I woke up in the Infirmary, you were there, and you offered to marry me as a better solution to death. You rescued me."

Snape looked absolutely incredulous. "You think MY actions were somehow the will of... _God_?"

"I know it sounds crazy to you, but think about it! What could be more unlikely than Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, enemy of all Griffindors, offering to marry ME, a Muggleborn, Griffindor student-- the friend of Harry Potter? What could be more miraculous? You were the last person who should have offered me a chance for life, and yet you did. If that doesn't point to the hand of God, Severus, I don't know what does!"

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For a moment, Severus was completely incapable of speech. She saw his proposal as an act of God? His actions part of God's providence? That was impossible! He hadn't been altruistic when he had asked her to marry him. He hadn't been pure or noble, or made any sacrifice. He had been incredibly selfish.

Severus had married Hermione because he desired her. He had loved her too, but he had known that she hadn't loved or wanted him. It had been an act of pure, Slytherin opportunism to use the Marriage Law to take advantage of her and make her his. He had truly wanted to save her life, but beneath it all he had simply wanted to _have_ her.

There had been far more lust than generosity in his offer of marriage. Severus remembered the way Hermione had first rejected his proposal, how she had turned away from him in disgust. He had hammered away at her reserve until she had agreed to be his. And then, once married, he had proceeded to seduce her-- over and over. There wasn't anything just or righteous in that.

And yet... the result hadn't turned out badly. Their marriage wasn't terrible. If anything, Severus loved Hermione more than ever, and his wife wasn't miserable. While she obviously didn't love him, she almost seemed to _like _him, and she actually enjoyed their lovemaking-- even if she never once initiated it. Could there really have been some sort of Kismet to all this, some divinely orchestrated twist of fate?

It was beyond Snape's ability to even _begin_ to picture a Cosmic Being powerful enough to somehow incorporate people's mean, petty, or evil actions into a plan for greater good. The incredible subtlety of an intelligence that complex would be awe-inspiring to a Slytherin. But to believe or place faith in it would be only wishful thinking to Snape. He was a hardheaded realist. Even if a god existed, he had seen no evidence that such a being cared for _him_. There had been no miracles in his life.

Hermione was sorting through another box. She looked a little embarrassed after her impassioned speech, as though she was shy about his reaction to it. She didn't seem ashamed, though. Hermione never backed down from anything she truly believed in, no matter what it was. No matter what anybody thought. Snape felt a poignant wave of tenderness. His wife saw him-- ugly, nasty Severus Snape-- _as proof that God loved her?_

What an astonishing thought. Most people saw him as evil incarnate. It touched him that she should see him as something good, as a gift from heaven-- not as a necessary evil. Her intent, serious face with its halo of curls looked heartbreakingly sweet to him. He had a sudden desire to kiss her intensely all over. But that was only lust again. She deserved better than just that. He cleared his throat.

"Just because I don't celebrate Christmas doesn't mean that you can't. You may put up your decorations anywhere you wish. But it is probably too late to procure a tree. I am sure my elves have no idea what a Christmas tree even looks like."

Hermione brightened like sunshine. "Oh, but that's all right! We can use my parents' old tree. It's got to be in here somewhere." She began digging energetically through more boxes.

Snape paused. Was she raving? Her last words had made no sense. An old tree hidden in that mess? Perhaps his wife was losing her mind. But of course she _did _believe in God, and Severus had long suspected the stubbornly religious of being unhinged... He spoke his next sentence almost tentatively.

"Don't you think... Hermione... that it would be rather... _dry_... by now?"

She looked up at him and then suddenly laughed, as if understanding how silly she had sounded. "Oh, no, Severus! It's not a _real _tree. It's an artificial one!"

"An artificial tree," he echoed, shaking his head.

"Yes. A fake tree, made of plastic and metal. It's a Muggle thing. They only have to be bought once, they don't catch fire, and they never shed. All we have to do is put it together."

Well, that explained the mystery. It was a _Muggle _thing. No wonder it sounded crazy. "This I have to see," he murmured as he watched Hermione burrow through the rest of the boxes.

"Ah-ha! Here it is!" she announced triumphantly, and dragged a moldering oblong cardboard box out of the jumbled slag. It had a crude cartoon of a Christmas tree on it, and the words: "Insta-Tree, Easy to Assemble," printed under the picture. Dust flew into the air when the box was opened, and a piece of something dropped onto the floor with a clank. Hermione glowed with cheerfulness.

"Let's see now... The directions have to be in here somewhere." She fished a battered piece of paper out from under an obscene tangle of dusty dark green bristles.

Severus stooped and picked up the piece that had fallen out and examined it. It was a bizarre looking thing and, like all Muggle-made plastic things, it had an odd, unnatural feel to it. Snape thought it resembled a sort of grotesque, elongated, dark green bath-brush. It was also matted and grimy with dust and dirt, and had weird silver strings still twisted among the bristles. He dropped it back into the box.

"You've got to be joking, Hermione. This thing looks about as much like a Christmas tree as Cinderella's pumpkin resembled a coach after midnight!"

"Oh, just wait! Once it's put together, you'll see! Although, I admit it could use a good cleaning spell."

Hermione scrutinized the directions. "Fasten sections A and B together at socket joint." Two long, pole-like pieces were fished out of the box and fit together with a snapping sound.

"There!" She picked up the paper again. "Now insert color coded tabs into corresponding slots..." She rummaged through the manky pieces, carefully examining the hooked ends. They had colors painted on them.

Snape eyed the slots on the long pole. If they ever did get the thing put together, it was going to be one _ugly _looking tree, a caricature of the real thing.

"This honestly doesn't seem worth the trouble," he groused, as he watched his wife grouping the pathetic makeshift branches into piles.

"There should be four yellow pieces, six orange pieces, eight red pieces, and six blue pieces." She paused, frowning. "Here, hold this."

The pole was shoved at him, and he found himself holding it.

"Hmm. I think there's a red and a blue piece missing. Well, no matter. We can always put the empty spaces facing the back where they won't show." She picked up a small, twisted bristly branch with a yellow painted end, and fitted it into one of the top slots. "And now we need three more yellows..."

"That one isn't yellow. It's orange."

"What? Oh, well. The other one must be in there somewhere. Let's just start sticking them in."

"These two orange pieces are broken."

Hermione made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. "Well, just put them aside, and we'll get to them later!"

Severus fit a few of the weird branches into the slots. They stuck out at odd angles, bent and twisted. He attempted to fan one of the branches out, as it appeared to be bendable, but when he did so, one of the bristly ends broke off. He snorted in disgust.

"This is obviously beyond its time, Hermione, if it ever had a time."

"Nonsense! All it needs is a little work."

It needed more than a little work. It needed a bonfire spell. Except that this monstrosity was constructed of non-flamable materials and supposedly wouldn't burn. Snape curled his lip. As a holiday decoration, this thing was hideous. If it resembled a tree at all, it looked like one that had died eons ago and had been re-animated as an Inferius. Dr. Frankenstein would have loved to own it.

Hermione fitted the last good piece into a slot-- jammed it in, as the slot seemed to have been clogged with something-- and stood back to inspect her handiwork. The piece she had just forced drooped and broke off.

"Give it up, Hermione."

"No! I can fix it!"

She took out her wand and pointed it at the broken piece and pronounced, "Reparo!"

There was a flash of light, but the broken piece looked no different afterwards. Hermione frowned and zapped the piece again. "Reparo!" she shouted.

Even though the force of her spell had moved it a couple of inches, the broken piece still hadn't changed. She picked it up and stared at it in an affronted manner. "Why doesn't it work? I've never had trouble with this spell before!" She looked at Severus demanding an answer.

"I think it won't work because this is not a natural object. Reparo is a transfiguration spell. Have you ever transfigured plastic, Hermione?" He held up the busted piece in a gingerly way, as if it carried a contagion. "It may be possible to work magic on Muggle-made materials, but you haven't learned it. Hogwarts doesn't teach it." He dropped the piece back into the box. "I don't know how to do it, either."

Hermione kicked the empty box in frustration and threw the tree after it. "Oh, blast it all! Blast and Bloody, Buggering Bother! Evanesco!" She aimed her wand at the aborted mess and vanished it with an angry flick of her wrist.

Severus forced himself _not _to smile. He had never before seen his wife, the former unflappable Miss Granger, having a "hissy fit". She looked rather cute, actually. It was almost hysterical how she couldn't even curse or swear properly.

"Stop laughing," she snarled, her face averted.

"I wasn't."

"I'm sure you were thinking of it!"

"So what if I was?"

His wife made a little choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter, herself. Then she heaved a sigh, shook her head and slumped a bit. "Well, I guess that's that," she said in a wry, resigned voice. "It would have been nice to have a tree to put our presents under, but I suppose we can just hand them to each other in the morning."

This time, Snape did smile. He smirked. So she _had_ got him something. "Presents?" he asked, "As in... more than one?" He had meant the question as an innocent tease, but for some reason, Hermione bristled like a porcupine. She whirled around with flashing eyes.

"Yes, Severus, presents! _CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!_ And I _did_ get you more than one. Not that you'll actually want to _open _them since you don't celebrate any holidays! I got some for the elves as well."

Now it was Snape's turn to bluster. "My elves? What is wrong with you? I told you to leave my elves alone! They are HAPPY!"

"I didn't get them _clothes! _Do you think I'm STUPID? I got them cute little Christmas ornaments with their names on them! I thought they'd like that. Even happy servants like to be appreciated!"

Snape stopped short in mid-tirade. "You actually remember their _names_?" He felt a little shocked.

"Of course! They told them to me. You were there! Blinky, Doddy, Lulu, Nanna, Tibby, and Krebbs! Well, what's the matter? Did I forget one?"

Snape just stared at her. "No. You didn't. Amazing."

She let out an exasperated growl. "Oh, I've had it! Forget dinner, I'm not hungry. I'm turning in for the night. Merry Christmas, Severus. I'm going to bed. I'll hand you your gifts in the morning."

Hermione stalked out of the room, and Severus heard her footsteps echo up the stairs in the silent gloom of his house.


	17. Merry Christmas

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 17: _Merry... Christmas_**

Snape glanced around at the tawdry mess of the room. It was as though his wife had taken all the light and warmth along with her when she had stormed out. The holiday trimmings she had unearthed gleamed and sparkled with patent cheeriness, but it all looked mockingly drab and meaningless to Snape. Merry Christmas, indeed! He doubted he would have much to be merry about this night.

It was obvious to him now why Hermione had gotten so upset. She was hurt and disappointed. She had taken the time to buy or make him gifts, but didn't believe he had done the same for her. And why should she? He generally only treated her as a lust object, and had just told her, in the coldest of terms, that he never celebrated Christmas. Naturally, she would assume he had neglected her.

There was no way she could have known all the effort he had made in the last couple of days to add to the pitiful little trinket he had bought her at Diagon Alley. Odd, how it had never occurred to him that she would think he would forget her. He was so used to being in love with her, that he forgot, sometimes, that she didn't know it. He had been worried she would forget _him_.

His stupid comment, "as in more than one?" was meant to tease her about the number of gifts she had bought for everyone else. She had sent off piles of things for Potter, Weasley, and the rest of her friends, as well as her incredible host of Muggle relatives. He had never meant to imply that he was so heartless and unfeeling as to ignore her at Christmas just because HE didn't celebrate it, and didn't want a tree.

How did he always manage to put his foot wrong when it came to Hermione? Why did he always say the wrong thing? He had hurt her again. And he had done this right after she confessed to him that she believed their marriage was somehow a heavenly gift designed to save her life and keep her in school. What did she think of him now? Somehow, Severus didn't believe Hermione would waver in her simple faith. She would probably reason that even good situations can contain disappointments. Like silver linings on clouds-- or was that the opposite?

It must be comforting to have strong, positive beliefs to carry one through the storms of life. How nice to actually think there was a Greater Good watching out for, and protecting one. Of course such beliefs were usually formed in safe, downy nests. They didn't happen in those who grew up fighting to stay alive. People like him knew better. But how pleasant to be able to believe in Peace on Earth, Good Will to Man-- to believe in the power of Love. Too bad he couldn't.

Severus picked up an ornament from an opened box. Christmas had always been a wretched time for him, a time when he had been made to realize, year after year, how unwanted he was, how unloved he was, how outside the world of peace and goodwill he and all his terrible family were. It had been a time to watch everyone else feast at the Table of Life and make merry, while he, himself, remained outcast and hungry.

But now, his hateful relatives were all dead. He had taken every measure he could to make sure that nothing they had been or done could hurt him anymore. Hermione was now the only family he had. As long as the Marriage Law bound her to him, she was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh-- closer to him than those once connected to him by unwanted ties of blood. If she had actually got him presents, she was including him (in kindness if not in love) in her circle of those that belonged.

How hard would it be to give her a Christmas tree? He suddenly wondered what his dismal house would look like decorated for Christmas by Hermione's hand. It might be just what this cold, empty mausoleum needed. Why not have a holiday celebration here-- even if he didn't believe in it? His wife's reaction might be sweet indeed, and if his father's malevolent shade still lingered within these walls, it would howl and writhe in agony...

He clapped his hands suddenly. "I need assistance!" he ordered to the silent, listening walls.

Instantly, a circle of eager, beaming house-elves appeared around him.

"I want you to find me an evergreen tree, conical in shape, about seven feet in height. Cut it off at the base, bring it into the house, and put it into the Library."

Adoring heads nodded in ecstatic assent. "Does Master want us to bring him a Christmas tree?"

Snape was completely taken back. "How do you know what a Christmas tree is?" he demanded in a shocked voice. "There has never been one here!" Then he added to himself in a mutter, "The only holidays my family ever celebrated were dark ones..."

"Oh, all house-elfs knows, Master. All knows about Christmas!" they chirped happily.

He shook his head. Of course they probably learned about wizard holidays from elves in other houses. There was probably an entire web of elf connections all around England. But Snape wasn't sure that idea was a pleasant one. He didn't like there to be things existing right under his nose that he didn't know about. What else about their elf-servants were wizards ignorant of?

"Well, get to it then and tell me when it is set up," he said gruffly. "It is for the Mistress."

The elves eyed each other joyfully and popped out to obey the order.

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Hermione lay in the dark, listening to the desolate noises of the gloomy old house. She heard the little creaks of timbers settling and the whispering moan of the winds outside, even the distant murmur of the ocean, but she could hear nothing else. Anything could be happening in this huge, desolate mansion and she'd never know it. She felt small and insignificant, lost and forgotten. Even the bed she lay in was enormous enough to make her feel tiny, but she felt no desire for her husband to join her in it.

She cringed inwardly over how she had acted-- arguing boldly for faith in God one minute, and having a tantrum over that ridiculous tree the next. How stupid and childish she must seem to him! Any credibility she had ever possessed was now blown completely to smithereens. How he must despise her.

Why couldn't she have kept her temper? She already suspected that her dark and dour husband would give her nothing for Christmas. She had known that when she was shopping for him. It shouldn't have bothered her. It shouldn't have made any difference. Giving, after all, was far more important than receiving. Yet instead of dealing with it rationally, she had pouted like a child. Why did it matter that her husband didn't care? Her throat tightened painfully. Why did it hurt so terribly?

Alone in the dark on Christmas Eve. No tree, no mistletoe, no carols, no decorations. No cheery fire with stockings hanging over it, and no presents for her-- at least none from the man who shared her bed. Harry and Ron would probably send her something-- chocolate frogs if nothing else. But what if they didn't? They hated Severus Snape, and ever since she had married him they had withdrawn from her more and more. Suppose they forgot her at Christmas too? Tears welled up in her eyes.

It was stupid to cry. Tears never accomplished anything. But this had to be her worst Christmas ever. It was worse than the time she had accidentally melted awful Uncle George's presents, worse than the year she had made her snowman dance. It was worse, even, than that year her parents had decided to go skiing over the holidays and leave her behind. But at least they had waited until _after_ Christmas Day to do that! They had done something to show her that they loved her and that they cared.

No one loved Hermione now. Her parents were dead, her friends were too busy for her, and she was married to a man whose soul was as cold and dark as polar ice. She had told him she thought their marriage was a miraculous thing, a mysterious intervening act of God. It had seemed so in that flashing moment of insight. Snape's unexpected proposal had kept her alive.

But what if Severus was right? What if it hadn't been an act of providence at all, but the cynical decision of a calculating man to use a damsel in distress for his own pleasure. What if there was no kind, powerful Being watching out for her? What if all life was the result of pure, blind chance? Hermione shivered. Desolation crept in on chilly feet. That couldn't be. _That just couldn't be!_ But what if it was? What if she was wrong and he was right, and life had no meaning-- no good higher purpose?

If that were so, then she was completely and utterly alone with nothing but darkness to look forward to. She was a lost speck tossing in a cold, merciless sea. But she mustn't think like that. It wasn't true. She _knew_ the truth! But shadows seemed to be painting the world with a tarnishing brush. The truth felt far, far away from her, and it was a hard struggle to keep believing in the light when she was alone and friendless in the empty dark...

The door opened suddenly, and her husband's silhouette stood outlined against the lesser gloom of the hall. Hermione froze. It would be an absolutely miserable cap to an already bad day if the wretched man insisted on sex! Severus advanced almost to the bedside. She kept completely still.

"If you are awake, Hermione, I need your assistance in the Library."

Hermione rose and threw a night robe over her gown-- the high-necked Victorian horror she wore when she didn't want sex-- and followed him out into the hall to the stairs. Why did he need her help in the library? If he was sorting all her father's history and medical books, surely he could do that on his own! _Muggle Section/ Category: History_/ _Sub-catagory: Military History... _Or, _Muggle Section/ Category: Science/ Sub-category: Medical/ Sub-sub-category: Dental..._ How hard was that?

Or maybe he just wanted to throw some of them out. Maybe he didn't want all the cookbooks, encyclopedias, and how-to or gardening manuals. Hermione wasn't sure she possessed enough strength at this point to fight with him over books. She wished he would say something, but as usual, Severus was silent as he lead the way down the empty, echoing staircase. He made no comment as he strode down the spare, stark hallways to the door of the Library.

When the Library door opened, Hermione was temporarily dazzled by the brightness of the room. She blinked. Holly hung from the bookshelves. Candles gleamed on the tables. A cheery fire danced in the hearth, and there... by the fireplace.. was... a Christmas tree! She turned to Snape in confusion.

"But I thought you said..."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I told you _I _don't celebrate Christmas. I also told you that doesn't mean _you _can't." His voice turned wry. "And it seems I've misjudged my house-elves. Apparently, they know all bout Christmas, including how to procure a tree. Amazing, actually. Who knew? Of course, you will have to decorate it."

Tears came to Hermione's eyes again, but this time they were happy tears. She turned and hugged Severus tightly and gave him a swift, fierce kiss. He raised an eyebrow again, this time wolfishly, and tugged at the lace of her chin-high collar. Hermione pulled back and turned away. She found herself confused and blushing.

Was there an ulterior motive behind all this? With Snape, of course, that was a given. No Slytherin did anything for nothing. He probably just wanted an aggressively grateful sex partner... But Hermione considered as she gazed at the tree. So what if he wanted something? Did it matter all that much? Aside from heroes and saints, did anyone have motivations that were absolutely pure? Tonight's result was something good, not something bad. He could have simply pulled her clothes off and thrown her into bed, but he had made an effort to please her. For Snape, that was unexpectedly nice.

She dug joyfully into boxes and pulled out ornaments. Here were her old family heirlooms and the Lennox, Hallmark, and Mikasa collectibles. She smiled with reminiscence as she found the perfect places for the cute little things she had made in Primary school, and the odd baubles from around the world that her relatives had sent. Severus watched her with an amused, detached expression. He made no move to help her decorate, but Hermione didn't mind. It wasn't his holiday, after all. It was enough that he had let her have a tree.

After the ornaments were hung, lights were attached (Hermione had spelled them into glowing,) and the angel was affixed to the top, Hermione stepped back to view the result. "Well, what do you think?" She asked him.

"I think it looks like a Christmas tree." He handed her a goblet. "Have some mulled wine. My elves make it and it's quite good. Why don't weexchange our presents now, instead of waiting until morning?"

Her jaw dropped at the sound of that, and she stared at him. He had said _our _and _exchange..._

"Yes, Hermione, _presents. CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. _You didn't honestly think I didn't get you any, did you?" He shook his head. "It's true I don't celebrate the holiday, but you are my _wife_. I take all my obligations very seriously."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She had been so sure that Severus would have had nothing for her, that he would never even have thought of it. But then, she had never considered that Snape would see it as an obligation either... She'd never figure that man out, never, never, _never. _

But how wonderful that things had turned out so surprisingly good, when only a short time ago they had appeared so incredibly dark. It was like a little miracle worked on her behalf to bring her back from the brink of despair and give her hope. Another little miracle achieved through the actions of a totally unsuspecting agent. She smiled as she _accio'd _her wrapped presents down the stairs and into the room. "Perhaps we should do the elves first," she suggested.

"Why not? It should prove interesting-- possibly even amusing, since this may be the first occurrence of its kind in the entire Wizarding World."

"It's not the first. I gave Kreacher a quilt for Christmas two years ago."

"And such a _deserving _little recipient he was, too," Snape commented sarcastically.

Hermione ignored him and gathered together the gifts she had prepared for the elves. Snape clapped his hands to call them, and they appeared instantly, six little bodies trembling with eagerness, six homely little faces beaming with joy.

"How can we serve Master and Mistress?"

For a minute, Hermione was afraid the poor little creatures would misread her intentions and run away thinking she was going to give them clothes. But their faces shone with trust when she wished them "Merry Christmas". They practically fell over each other to get their presents. When they saw what was in them, their excited grins almost split their faces. Each elf lovingly placed their own ornament on the tree, caressed the spot where their name was written on it, and then bowed, thanked her, and disappeared. But not before bestowing upon her a look of such heartfelt devotion that it bordered on worship.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You've spoiled them now."

"Oh, I don't think so." She carried some boxes over to him. "Your turn next, Severus. Merry Christmas."

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Snape looked down at the little pile of beautifully wrapped gifts she had given him. To his acute embarrassment, he felt his throat actually constrict with unaccustomed emotion. _Presents... for him. _No one had ever remembered him at Christmas before. Even Dumbledore never gave him a present-- just a holiday bonus of a couple extra galeons... He was suddenly unsure how he was supposed to behave and hid behind a screen of dry, sardonic humor.

"Let's see now," he said slowly, picking one up and measuring it with his eyes. It was soft around the edges. "Whatever could this be? Too small for a new cauldron." He squeezed it. "Too squishy as well. New robes, perhaps? Socks...? If you got me underwear, Hermione, I shall be _most_ displeased."

Hermione snickered almost conspiratorially. "Oh, never! Although Tonks got some for Remus. Glow-in-the-dark underwear, actually."

"Lupin deserves underwear," he sniffed. "Especially if it glows in the dark!" He examined the ribbons and the handmade bow. It seemed a shame to have to destroy such a masterpiece of wrapping just to open it. Besides, he wanted to savor the moment.

"Well, are you going to open it?"

He glanced up at her through half-lidded eyes. "A little impatient are we? What does it do, my dear, explode?"

A growl of indignation came from Hermione's direction, and Severus smirked as he tore the wrapping paper. When he had finally peeled it all off, he frowned in puzzlement. It appeared to be nothing but a wad of brown foam, corrugated like a honeycomb. What in the world was this? He dug into the foamy material and found that it was wrapped around something else. A hard something... a book. Snape let out a small chuckle in spite of himself.

"Oh, very good, Hermione. Ingenious. You actually had me fooled."

She beamed and blushed. "My parents used to disguise some of my presents that way," she said.

Severus suddenly remembered that his wife ate up praise with the voracious appetite of a starveling. Perhaps he was being a bit too effusive. It might be best to tone it down a little. She might think he'd gone soft.

"That's a very Slytherin thing to do, you know. Keep this up and we might have to discuss a house transfer. And by the way, I'm unlikely to be fooled a second time." He picked up the book to examine it. "What sort of a book is this?" Although that was really a redundant question. The title proclaimed, The Concise Science Encyclopedia.

"That's a Muggle Science book covering almost everything. It's the last thing I got you. You wanted to know about microwaves the other day. There's something about microwave energy in it."

"Indeed," he said, then added, "Thank you," a little stiffly. He wasn't used to having to say it.

His other presents were books too, larger and more ostentatiously bound. Along with a new treatise on the nature of the universe, there was a boxed set of volumes by someone called Stephen Hawking, who, Hermione informed him, was the new Einstein-- the most intelligent man in the Muggle world. Snape looked at the picture in the back. It showed an emaciated being sitting twisted in a wheelchair. Snape shook his head in amazement. That image was the last thing he expected. Surely the man with the most powerful Muggle mind would look more imposing...

"He has Multiple Sclerosis," Hermione explained. "It's a disease that paralyzes his body, but leaves his mind alone. It's sad, and sort of miraculous too, that someone so afflicted could also be so incredibly gifted."

Snape shuddered. If _he_ were paralyzed, he'd beg for poison. But this mere Muggle man kept on going. That showed incredible strength. He endured the pain, and all the indignities of being an invalid to go on with his work-- writing books, possibly making more discoveries. And he was recognized and respected in spite of the horror of his condition. Was there anyone in the Wizarding World that was his parallel? Severus couldn't wait to read the books.

How perceptive and thoughtful of Hermione to buy him books! All his life he had sought after knowledge. His library here at the Manor had taken him years to amass, and it had taken just about all his spare gold to do it. So what if he never took vacations? His mind could escape into reading. So what if his robes weren't fashionable? All he really wanted to do was study and work experiments. Everything else could be economized! And Hermione, he knew, shared that same zeal for learning. It was one of the things that made her so beautiful.

"Your turn now, Hermione," he said softly as he handed over her presents, one at a time. He gave her the small one first.

Hermione opened up the little jewelry box and smiled. "Oh, how pretty!" she said. "A locket. I never one before. I'll have to find a picture small enough to put in it..." She opened it up. "Oh, but it doesn't take pictures.. how cunning! There's just a space in it for magic powder. I can put Peruvian Dark powder in it. Thank you, Severus! This is really a great present!"

Well, he would reserve his judgment on that. His wife hadn't seemed enthusiastic about the locket until she had discovered it's magical properties. It was obvious she wasn't one of those females who cherished a large, expensive jewelry collection! And it was a sad point against him that he had not even known that it was a receptacle for powder, instead of pictures.

Silently, he handed her the other package and watched carefully as she opened it. Hermione pulled the paper off carefully and took out a small book. When she opened the pages, her eyes widened. She stared at it intently, and then tears began to roll down her face.

"How did you do it?" she whispered as she continued to gaze at the pictures in the book-- moving images of a little girl running about a playground, climbing jungle-gyms, and swinging on swings. The child was wearing a funny little pointy blue hat.

Keeping his voice carefully steady, Snape replied. "Just a little magic, that's all. Nothing to it, really," and he smiled triumphantly to himself at the happy look on his wife's face.

Surprisingly,this was turning out to be a rather merry Christmas for him. The best ever. It was a nice change-- something he never expected, and he suddenly wondered if Hermione might be possibly right. Coulda Higher Power actually beblessing him?

He mentally shook his head and recoiled from such wishful thinking. He'd believe in a god the day Hermione fell in love with him, and a miracle like that was never going to happen. Wallowing in uncertainties and wishing for things that weren't and could never be, would do him no good whatsoever. It was far better to take comfort in what certainties there actually were-- and there were good ones, even for him.

What appeared certain now was that he, Severus Snape, was probably going to enjoy a very pleasant Christmas Eve night after all...


	18. The Fall of a Shoe

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

_Author's note: I apologize for the lack of dialogue in this chapter. I promise the next will have much more. This section was supposed to be different, but as I began writing it, it morphed into the words that followed. Somehow, I couldn't do it any differently than this._ _I know a lot of readers love dialogue. If it seems a little boring, please hang in there._

**CHAPTER 18: _The Fall of a Shoe_**

The return to Hogwarts was marred by the news that Lucius Malfoy's new wife had died over Christmas break-- from complications due to pregnancy. The tidings cast a pall over the school. Jeanine had been last year's Head Girl, a promising student, and the tragedy of her death was magnified by the grim specter of the Marriage Law that had so obviously hastened it. It went without saying that if it hadn't been for that law, she would still be alive. Muggleborn students looked especially sober.

Hermione felt stunned and sick. She knew her friend's prospects as a Malfoy bride had been bleak, but Jeanine's early death shocked her. She really hadn't expected it, though possibly she should have. Severus said nothing. His normally inscrutable countenance was even more closed than usual, and Hermione wondered if he knew something-- something he didn't wanted her to know. He _was_ in the Order, and Malfoy had mentioned, during that chance meeting in the Alley, that his wife had been ill...

The other teachers commiserated sadly. They spoke of how bright their former student had been. Professor Flitwick even delivered a small eulogy. Hermione added her signature to the obligatory condolence card Severus prepared to send. She signed it with a shaking hand. Jeanine dead... so soon... and of a miscarriage of all things! Where a Malfoy was involved, it was tempting to imagine a more sinister cause. After all, how many women actually _die_ of a miscarriage in this day and age?

Of course, it was possible... The Wizarding world had an abysmal track record when it came to prenatal care. It was one of those areas in which Muggle science was more advanced. Modern medicine had made maternal deaths in the Muggle world comparatively rare, but this was something most wizards remained ignorant of. Witches were far more likely to die in childbirth than Muggles were. Hermione wanted to scream at the backward arrogance of the Wizarding world.

Wizards believed they were superior. _They had magic_. They had to be better in every way than those who didn't. Some regarded Muggles as a sort of subhuman species, and perhaps that explained the almost fanatical persecution they practiced against the Muggleborn. Muggleborn wizards were reminders that they were all one species after all. One would think they would recognize the obvious-- that all wizards came from Muggles at one time, but they didn't. The Muggleborn were interlopers, invaders from an alien world-- a world Wizarding society remained ignorant of.

And they went out of their way to STAY ignorant. Students in "Muggle Studies" learned only the difficulties of living _without_ magic. They studied how Muggles used muscle, but never how they used their brains. Little mention was made of Muggle science and technology. It was amazing how much wizard society just _wouldn't _see!

Had no one notice rockets blasting into space? Was anyone aware that Muggles had walked on the moon? Did wizards know about the probes that went to Mars and Jupiter? Or the Hubbell Telescope? And what about all those satellites in orbit? Had they any idea how swift Muggle communication now was?

But of course they didn't know that. They didn't WANT to know. They puffed out their chests, sneered, and buried their heads in the sand. They were _superior _because of their magic. Anything non-magical was so inferior that it couldn't affect them. But they were forgetting how Muggles once HAD affected them, and still had the potential to do so-- that it was actually the reason for the Clause of Secrecy.

"History of Magic" taught that the witch hunts of the past had been futile. But reading between the lines, Hermione had always sensed that wasn't the whole story. Wizards _had_ found ways to elude persecution-- even using charms to survive being burned at the stake. But there must have been many who hadn't. What about the weak wizards, the untrained, and the children? What about those caught by surprise? A man with a wand was a match for one without, but what about an army of wandless men? Surely in a barrage of arrows and spears... or bullets, one would hit.

Wizards ignored their own history in favor of myth. Few knew how precarious the existence of the Wizarding World actually was. They believed themselves invulnerable, and that all their laws and restrictions were for the protection of _Muggles_, not themselves. But there must have been many wizards who had died at Muggle hands, and Hermione could think of plenty of ways for wizards to perish from modern high tech weapons.

Yet wizard society pretended such things couldn't happen. Those bright enough to see the possibilities went out of their way _not _to look at them, and they denigrated those who did. Muggleborns worked to downplay their backgrounds-- some acting more UN-Muggle than the pureblood wizards themselves. But Hermione remained proud of her Muggle heritage. She had once made herself obnoxious by showing off her magic every chance she had, but it all ended up doing her very little good. No amount of perfection could compensate for the taint of her Muggle birth.

Hermione was infuriated by the prejudice against her. Magic _was_ wonderful... but so was technology. Why was _everything _Muggle seen as inferior and stupid? It WASN'T! And there were plenty of flaws and inconsistencies in the _"superior"_ Wizarding World-- especially in medicine! Once long ago, magic worked better than medicine, but that wasn't always the case now. Muggle medical knowledge had grown exponentially. Hermione could see lots of ways in which wizards could learn from their Muggle neighbors.

Take vision, for example. Why did so many wizards wear glasses? Surely by now they would have found a magical cure for faulty eyes, but they hadn't. They didn't even make their own eyeglasses or test their own eyes. _They had to go to Muggles for that!_ The squib who owned the spectacle shop in Diagon Alley didn't even sell contact lenses. And in the Muggle world, people were flocking in droves to have laser eye surgery... Which magic was better?

The dental situation was even worse. Healers only treated toothaches with painkilling potions or removal hexes. Hermione had never seen so many shameful mouths of yellow, broken, or missing teeth. Wizards brushed, but that was all. There were no preventative or restorative treatments. If it weren't for those flossing candies, no one would floss, and fluoride rinses were unheard of! Her parents had been shocked to hear of the state of wizard dental hygiene. It had helped change their attitude from acceptance to condemnation. A culture that neglected its teeth was obviously barbaric.

That was why they hadn't wanted her to use magic to shrink her overly large front teeth. _"Stick to modern science, Hermione! Making broomsticks fly is one thing, but when it comes to teeth..." _Hermione had almost thanked Draco Malfoy for hexing her teeth. It allowed her afterwards to shrink them to the size she wanted. But that incident was still painful. Severus had once been cruel to her over those teeth. Talk about throwing stones at a glass house...

Her husband's crooked teeth were a perfect example of the need for orthodontics in the Wizarding world! And he had come from an obviously well to do family. What Muggle clan with that sort of money would neglect to have their children's teeth straightened? Muggles fitted their young with braces as a matter of course. And yet Snape's teeth were not abnormal. Among the Wizards, _straight _teeth were rare. No wonder Gilderoy Lockhart's perfect smile had made him so famous.

The cultural chauvinism of wizard society would be laughable if it wasn't potentially tragic. No wizard would ever consider using Muggle medicine. They trusted the healers at St. Mungo's to solve every problem. Yet as far as Hermione could see, St. Mungo's treated mostly _magical _ailments, conditions wizards either brought upon themselves or inflicted on each other. There wasn't much interest in conditions that didn't have a magical cause.

Broken bones could be easily fixed, but other conditions were far less fortunate-- and no field of wizard medicine was as deplorably backward as Obstetrics. The practice of childbirth still remained stubbornly bound by tradition and myth. Hermione had been dismayed upon learning the conditions under which witches gave birth, and had long since resolved that if she _EVER_ had a baby, it would be born in a _Muggle_ hospital.

Hermione shivered with anger. What had happened to Jeanine was _criminal!_ Childbirth, wizard style, was still stuck in the stone age. A magical midwife placed more emphasis on the placement of the stars, the planets, and the moon than on any real science. There were no tests for fetal or maternal health, and when it came to the actual birth of the baby, the conditions were appalling. Absolutely no medical magic was used during labor and delivery-- no lifesaving, or even painkilling, intervention. _None at all_. And it was because of that deplorable wizarding narcissism.

Healers wouldn't use magic on a pregnant witch for fear of affecting the baby-- not the baby's life, but the baby's _MAGIC. _No one knew why some wizard children were born without magic. It was generally believed that something must have happened during a witch's pregnancy to interfere her baby's emerging magic, but they had no idea what had intervened, or how. So healers stood by helpless. All they knew was magical medicine, and they didn't dare use it. They let nature take its' course-- even to tragedy.

In this twisted society, ALL that mattered was magic, more than love, more than life-- and witches would willingly risk theirs to make their children magical. No one wanted the stigma of having possibly done something to hurt their child's place in society. Even had there been any anti-miscarriage charms, or fetal health potions, no one would have used them. They would have been too afraid. No wonder so many witches and their babies died.

Hermione suspected that being magical was simply a matter of genes-- an inherited DNA combination, or a chance mutation. But genetics was a Muggle science, and wizards relied on old wives tales. Pregnant witches were discouraged from using magic for fear of harming their babies. They weren't supposed to aparate, mix potions, or use their wands. House-elves were supposed to wait on them hand and foot. Hermione couldn't imagine a more frustrating existence.

And did it even make a difference? Molly Weasley had told her once that she had cooked and cleaned with magic throughout all her six pregnancies, and her children were highly gifted. She hadn't done this from enlightenment, but expediency-- she couldn't afford a house-elf, and didn't know how to do much of anything without magic. But she couldn't have been the only one! Surely _somebody _would have noticed by now that these superstitious wives tales were all bunk!

Her poor friend was obviously the victim of criminal negligence. What healthy young woman would die of a miscarriage if she had had proper medical care? _If only her husband had taken her to a DOCTOR, she might still be alive_! But that proud, insufferable pureblood would never have done that. Life was more important than spells or charms, but not to Lucius Malfoy. To him, magic would always come first. Jeanine Malfoy had died of prejudice and snobbery.

Unless... her death had been from murder... With Malfoy, it wasn't out of the question. But why marry someone, boast about her pregnancy, and then kill her before the baby was born? It made no sense. He seemed to have wanted the child, so there was no logical reason for him to have killed it. If he had wanted to be rid of his wife, he could have done away with her later. Unless Jeanine had killed _herself..._ Hermione shivered, remembering her own failed suicide attempt. Her escape had been narrow. If circumstances had been a little bit different, it would be HER now dead... and perhaps even wearing the Malfoy shroud.

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Severus didn't share Hermione's obvious shock at Mrs. Malfoy's death. To him, it was equivalent to the fall of a second shoe. He had never expected the innocent, serious Ravenclaw to last very long as the wife of Lucius Malfoy. The man was a sadistic bastard, after all. Since he had probably made her life with him hell, her demise was sadly inevitable. The poor woman had probably committed suicide.

But the odds were equally favorable that her husband had killed her. Lucius enjoyed killing, and had done it with gleeful enthusiasm as a deatheater. A coward at heart, his chosen prey had usually been Muggles since he deemed them little more than animals and unworthy of life. It was classic, actually. All bullies-turned-killers dehumanized their victims. Malfoy wasn't even original. A Muggleborn wife in the Malfoy house would have been a sitting duck.

It should have been screamingly obvious to everyone why Lucius had married that poor girl. He wanted to abuse her under the Ministry's nose-- and with their stupid, innocent blessing! By marrying a Muggleborn witch, old Vicious Lucius looked cooperative, even saintly. He appeared to be doing his part for wizard repopulation, showing that he was free of old prejudice. But what rubbish! No one who actually KNEW Lucius Malfoy would ever believe that! But how many actually knew him?

And it made perfect sense for Malfoy to murder his wife in mid-pregnancy. He wouldn't want a child with "tainted blood." Snape's own father had sired progeny by a succession of wives, but had never allowed one of his captive Muggle mistresses to give birth. They had always died before that could happen. Shadows of the past began to creep over Severus and hellish memories oozed unbidden into his mind like relentless sewer seep.

Lucius Malfoy showed a disturbing likeness to Snape's father. Septimus Snape had also relished killing (along with every other form of brutality) and the members of his own family were often his victims. As a boy, Severus had learned early to recognize when someone was going to be hurt or killed. When the ax was about to fall, Septimus seemed to radiate with a foul, evil excitement. Only the Dark Lord had equaled that sinister intensity.

It was uncanny that at the time of a death, the Dark Lord and the two Aunts-from-Hell were often visiting. Like vultures, they seemed to smell an upcoming murder, and derive their energy from human mortality and pain. As a child, Severus hadn't been forced to watch or participate. Instead, he had hidden in abject terror, hoping desperately to escape the focus of their cruelty. His revenge, when it had finally come, had been years later-- far too late in his opinion. A rushing flood of poisonous images, memories he had tried to keep buried, began to beat down on him like a series of knockout blows.

_"What happened to my brother? Why did Father take him away?"_

_"Young master must not ask! Tibby cannot say!"_

_"Stop crying you sniveling little toad! You're a disgrace! Crucio!"_

_"Leave him alone! Don't hurt him! Stop it..."_

The barrage was like a sudden attack of the Cruciatus, and it brought on a swift reaction of panic and nausea. From instinct, he quickly began a cleansing mental exercise to force the memories out, blanking his mind and calming his emotions as if preparing for Occlumency. It took a moment, but it worked. The pictures, the voices, and the horror began to fade back to the shadows where they belonged, leaving only a lingering foulness-- a persistent, ghostly stain on the fabric of his soul. A shadow that always remained.

The taint of his past seemed inescapable, no matter where he went or what he did. It was like struggling up out of a pit, only to discover, suddenly, that he was back down at the bottom and had to climb out all over... He had done everything he could to renounce his past-- to crush it, to excise it from his life. He had fought his family and defeated them all, and he had fought against the Dark Lord. But now, even still now, he couldn't escape the persistent, haunting guilt.

Hermione's grief unsettled him. He couldn't help feeling that he was somehow culpable because of his former friendship with Malfoy. Should he have known what was going to happen? Would Hermione assume that he did? Could he _never_ put enough distance between himself and his past associations so as to be free of guilt from their actions? Would he always be tarred by the same brush as they were simply because he had once been like them? Could he never be free?

And he HAD tried to do something. That night, after running into Lucius in the Alley, he had made a clandestine trip to the Malfoy property. He had circled the entire perimeter of the estate, only to find the wards around it too thick and powerful to penetrate without discovery. Unfortunately, he had found nothing damning. Beyond the wards, there was nothing obviously sinister about the place-- and the wards, themselves, were not criminal. Wizards who _didn't_ protect their property were foolish, but few could make barriers that strong. The fact that he couldn't get in without detection bothered Snape.

He had reported his findings to the Order, but no one there had been able to do anything either. And most hadn't wanted to. The war was over. It was time to stop seeing dark threats at every turn. It was time to start living without fear again. Snape inderstood their reasoning. Most people felt that way. _Except that THAT was exactly what_ _allowed dark threats to emerge! _

Evil was a constant, and dark lords rose and fell with regularity. Most were petty creatures-- meager little dark lords that were easily defeated. But there was always another. _Always_. It was the nature of darkness to look for weakness in the light. Dark always sought to quench Light, just as cold sought to dissipate heat, and emptiness to break down density. Darkness was the elemental force forever attempting to tear apart the fabric of life. It was very like what Muggles called "entropy."

Fighting the Dark Arts took constant force of will. Letting down one's guard was almost always fatal, because all Darkness had to do was to simply wait for the forces of Light to stop trying... or caring Constant vigilance meant continual energy, ongoing action. Just as it took energy to keep up the presence of heat in the cold, it took energy to keep up the presence of Light amid Darkness. After all, wasn't darkness simply the absence of light?

Unnervingly, he suddenly recalled Hermione's words about an "Ultimate Light." Light in the physical world came from energy-- energy that had to be generated, or else have a primal origin (the "Big Bang," if the Muggle Hawking was correct.) But if that was the case, what about _metaphysical _Light, the antithesis of Darkness? Severus understood the Dark Arts as few others did, and he knew what it took to fight them. If the forces of Light had to be generated and maintained by strength of will, where had the original _concept _come from? How had it started? The idea filled Snape with forboding.

Could Light be personified? Did it actually have will? Was it aware of him, and did it know what he was and what he had done? These were dangerous thoughts and Snape recoiled from them. Questions like these might lead to dangerous conclusions-- frivolous conclusions he had no business considering. Given life as he knew it was, it didn't do well to hope for what he couldn't be sure of, or perhaps to fear... He quickly turned his attention back to the concrete-- to Malfoy and his poor dead bride.

The most maddening aspect of this tragedy was that it might have been avoided. Somebody should have stopped it, somebody with the authority to pry. He had warned the others-- Lupin in particular-- that Malfoy was up to something. Why wouldn't anyone listen? Measures should have been taken to investigate, to intervene if necessary. Now that poor girl was dead, most likely from murder, and her body ashes on a pyre. There would be no way now to prove wrongdoing-- no way to bring Lucius to justice or stop him from killing again.

Severus watched his own wife sign the wretched condolence card wizard custom had forced him to prepare. Her expression was troubled as she absently pulled a lock of loose curls away from her face. She looked so serious, so innocent, so incredibly vulnerable... _It would have been her_. Lucius had been first on the list of Hermione's former petitioners. If he, Severus Snape, hadn't talked her into marrying him, she would most certainly now be dead, or wishing she was.

He hated to think of what that monster would have done to her. Lucius was a connoisseur of torture and abuse, and he would have taken an intense, perverse delight in her pain and humiliation. Hermione was still comparatively innocent. She probably had no idea what she had been saved from, but Severus knew. He had seen Malfoy at his worst, and had often been forced to watch, or clean up.

The thought of Hermione in Malfoy's hands made him sick. It made him more than sick. He felt afire with a nervous, restless energy, shadowed by a deep unease. He had come so close to losing her, and now-- even though she was safely his wife-- he knew she wasn't yet out of danger. Snape could only protect her if he lived. If something happened to him-- if he died, she would be sold off to someone else. _Someone who would hurt her_. A predatory wizard need only kill him and they could find a way to take her. Snape's helpless sense of vulnerability chilled him. It also brought on a fierce physical desire...

He wanted her. He wanted to feel that she was really his. He wanted her so suddenly and so badly that he was certain he would need an ice cold shower just to make it through the day. But then... why resort to that? Severus watched Hermione put down the quill. She _was _his wife... If he wanted her, why not take her? This was still the weekend. There were no classes, no school obligations, and there was no reason why they couldn't enjoy a little interlude of passion anytime they wished. No reason at all.

"Do you have immediate plans?" he asked, walking up to her.

"I'll probably go to the library for a while," she said, frowning into the distance as if lost in the seriousness of her thoughts, "I want to do some more research on environmental Arithmancy."

Snape took her hand. "You can do that later, Hermione." His fingers caressed her palm meaningfully.

Her startled response was slow in coming. It was as if he had woken her out of a deep, profound mental sleep. Sex had obviously been the farthest thing from her mind, and Snape felt a momentary pang at his intention. Compelling her to his bed just after breakfast, and when she was in a troubled state of mind, was more than unfair-- it bordered on the despicable. Color came into her face as her eyes met his, and Severus knew he was probably being a cad, but that didn't stop him.

"Oh..." she said softly, " ...now?" Her voice was a tentative whisper of awkwardness and confusion, but it wasn't a refusal, and he knew it wouldn't be. She had only refused him once-- after he had shouted at her unfairly. And even then, she had given in after his apology. She seemed to feel an obligation to him, and it bothered him that she submitted out of compulsion. It bothered him even more that he knew this and was taking advantage of it, but he did it anyway. Perversely, his desire grew more urgent.

He led her firmly into the bedroom, and she followed in a sort of flustered silence-- glancing with slight embarrassment at the lit candles and torches. Snape knew Hermione preferred to shelter intimate acts under cover of darkness, but he often enjoyed the presence of light during sex. It added a little spice to the experience, as it enabled him to _see _her. But he understood only too well that she wanted to shut him out since she didn't want him in the first place. Stubbornly, Snape left the torches lit.

As he undressed her swiftly, nimble fingers flying over buttons and clasps, she stood quietly and let him do it. She made no effort to either stop or help him, and her passive compliance irritated him. _He loved her_. _His love had saved her!_ Why couldn't she love him back? Why couldn't she want him? Was it too much to ask after all he had done for her? Anger flared within him, but it was anger mostly at himself. He was, after all, behaving with all the sensitivity of a bull moose in heat... How _could _she love him? How could anyone?

Snape knew that this was obviously the wrong time, and that if he had any decency he would not push the issue. He wouldn't compel Hermione to service him when she was bothered in mind and bruised in soul. He should let her grieve in peace. But he didn't. The sight of her exposed skin, and the feel of it beneath his hands, quickened his nerve-induced desire and enflamed it into passion. Taut with heat, he evaporated his own robes and pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily, eager to have her, to consume her, to taste every inch of her.

Her answering kiss was hesitant and inhibited, her expression distracted. Her movements were slow as if partially frozen. She made no resistance when he lowered her to the bed, but there was a slight stiffness in her body, an unmistakable uncertainty. Snape burned under another wave of self hatred. Hermione's obvious lack of willingness was like a stab wound. He needed her love. He wanted to shake her as much as kiss her, to pound his love into her-- to _make_ her love him as he loved her...

But that wouldn't happen. Severus knew there was no way he could force his wife to feel for him what she couldn't. Love couldn't be commanded or forced. If Hermione didn't care for him, no violence on his part would ever make her do so. She would only learn to hate him. All he could ever hope to do was to make her _want_ him, to make her enjoy him. Holding himself back and reaching for patience, he set out to do that-- working diligently with hands, lips, and tongue to ignite within her the passion he wished she had.

Gradually, predictably, he did so. By now, Snape knew his wife's body well enough to make the outcome inevitable. Soon, at his persuasion, stiffness melted into softness, acceptance into eagerness. Her breath caught and quickened, her embrace tightened. Snape felt the change and let himself go. He lost his darkness in the taking of her, reveled in the scent and feel and sound of her. He poured out all the power of his desire until he was finally rewarded-- until her body told him, gratifyingly, that in the sating of his own fierce passion, he had also fulfilled hers.

In the stillness that followed the storm, the two of them lay quietly side by side. Severus felt as troubled of mind as he was satisfied in body. As good as the experience had been, his aftershock of guilt outweighed any lingering pleasure. He had been a pig. He shouldn't have pushed her when she hadn't been ready. There was no excuse for his behavior other than sheer, bloody-minded selfishness-- unless it was the timeworn excuse of husbandly prerogative. But Severus didn't want compliance as much as he wanted love. He might as well wish for the moon.

After a long interval where he brooded in silence, Hermione rose and retired to the bathroom. Snape winced inwardly at the awkward look on her face, and when he heard the unmistakable sound of the shower, he ground his teeth. So she was washing him off her, cleansing herself of his essence. Despite the pleasure he tried to give her, she felt contaminated. A wave of choking bitterness rose up within him. Well, what did he expect? She obviously hated him. She detested him enough to scrub herself raw after he had touched her...

_But that was ridiculous_. He was being an ass-- a silly, melodramatic ass, overreacting and jumping to bad conclusions. After all, most people washed after sex. There were scents that lingered. If Hermione was going to mingle with friends, it would naturally be awkward to do that with the fragrance of recent coitus hovering about her. And she'd want to compose her hair as well. Here, Snape couldn't help a slight, wry smirk. She'd never be successful at that. Hermione's wild curls always looked deliciously disheveled. It was something he found erotic.

Snape got up, performed a cleansing charm, and put on a fresh set of robes before Hermione emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She gave him only a quick little glance before proceeding to the wardrobe to dress, and Severus watched her openly. He couldn't help gazing at the body he had so recently enjoyed. She _was _his wife-- HIS-- and if he was going to be cad enough to accost her whenever he wished, it wouldn't be much worse to _look_ at her whenever he wished. Although if he looked too long, he would only want to pull her back into bed...

Hermione turned her back and dressed quickly, drying her hair with magic. The air seemed thick with unspoken words and the silent weight of misunderstandings. It was an awkward moment in which a gulf seemed to yawn between them-- a gulf which contained all that he couldn't say, and which echoed to its bottomless depths with buried hurts and resentments. Their bodies could join in the closest embrace, yet no two souls could be any farther apart. He had thought she was his? She would never be his. He imagined her hating him, cursing him, wishing herself as far away from him as she could get.

Just then, Hermione turned to look at him, but here was no hatred in her face like he thought there would be, only a soft, surprised intensity. Her gaze held an earnest expression that almost appeared apologetic. If Severus didn't know better, he would say she looked... grateful. _Grateful? _She lifted her chin, and it appeared for a moment that she would say something, but as the moment passed, she seemed to change her mind. Smiling slightly, she shook her head and turned to go. But as she passed by him, she paused to give him a quick little hug and kiss. Dumbfounded, Snape could only stare at her departing figure and wonder.

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Hermione let the hot water flow over her as she mulled over what had just happened. She would never understand Severus, never in a million years. What had caused that sudden explosion of desire? He had made little reaction to the tragic news of Jeanine's death, and it had bothered her that he didn't even seem to care that a former student, a friend of hers, had died. Then, out of the blue, he had wanted to make love so insistently that he had practically dragged her to the bed. And she had just let him.

For a moment, her cheeks burned almost as hot as the water from the shower. She had just let him take her... _like a little doormat_. Why did she always act like a child around him? Why couldn't she stand up to him? She had been married to Severus for months now, but she still felt awkward and intimidated around him-- especially when it came to the bedroom. Hermione didn't seem to have the nerve to tell him "no" when she didn't want sex, or advertise her interest with proper effectiveness when she did want it. Unless he made her angry, she always felt like a schoolgirl around him.

But that, of course, was the problem. She _was _still a schoolgirl. Severus wasn't her teacher anymore, but part of her still felt as though he was. One branch of her mind still saw him as "Professor Snape," the Potions master-- a man she had respected and obeyed since she was eleven. So, naturally when he had beckoned, six years of habit had clicked immediately into action. In the first few critical moments where she should have been able to refuse him, it had never occurred to her to do so. And in the moments following, it had been virtually impossible.

Had it been Ron, or Harry, or any of the other boys that she knew, Hermione was certain it would have been different. None of them could have coerced her. Hermione had always done the bossing and the kindly meant bullying. _They _couldn't have pushed her into something she didn't want... or could they? Hermione suddenly remembered times when, in order to help them, she had followed Harry and Ron into situations she hadn't want to be in, and had done things that she REALLY hadn't wanted to do. _But this wasn't the same thing..._ Or was it? Perhaps it was. Perhaps in the end, it all boiled down to need.

Severus, in those opening moments of seduction, had seemed to really need her-- or, at least, her body. There had been an urgency to his approach, a hard, hungry intensity. It had been reminiscent of the way he had acted after she had woken him from that horrible nightmare. It was as though he was trying to forget something awful, or assuage some pain or fear. She had even imagined for a moment a ghostly shadow of dark desperation in his compelling eyes. Of course she had helped him.

But why had he been like that? What had brought it on? Severus had seemed so unmoved by the tragic news of this morning, but perhaps it had affected him after all. Perhaps he really did know something, or suspected something, that he wasn't telling her. Snape was a man of deep secrets. Who knew what dark thoughts or memories were hiding behind that stern, remote face. Though why such things would make him want sex, she had no idea.

It had to be a _man thing_, the male response to negative stimuli. When in danger or in doubt; under pressure, angry, or worried-- have sex. Perhaps it was the old "fight or flight" syndrome-- with an extra step of "procreate quickly" in case fight or flight didn't work. But of course, being male, the stimuli need not be anything so great at all. From what she understood, men wanted sex at the weirdest times, and she might be reading too much into it. Her husband may only have craved a spectacular sexual release because he had drunk too much coffee, or because Venus was in the wrong house...

How disturbing that it _had_ been spectacular... Hermione didn't understand. How could it have been so good? She hadn't wanted to do it. She had been shocked and upset over her friend's death, and angry over Wizarding stupidity and ignorance. The LAST thing she had wanted was sex, and yet she had wound up actually enjoying it. Severus had seemed to have needed her, but he hadn't just used her. He had worked some sort of sensual magic, and though she had given in out of compulsion, in the end she had become happily, eagerly cooperative. Thinking about it was dizzying.

Hermione looked for her robes, but discovered that she had forgotten to bring them. Ruefully, she wrapped herself in a towel. Now she'd have to parade past Severus half naked and change in front of him. Since they had just recently been about as intimate as it was possible to be, that really shouldn't pose a problem, but she hesitated. Severus _in_ bed was so very different from Severus _out of_ bed. He seemed to be two different people: one who related to her on the physical level; and another who wouldn't relate to her on any consistent level at all. Not to mention that she felt embarrassed.

It was too confusing and strange. She couldn't help feeling that her unexpected response to him was somehow indecent. Her friend had just died. People were supposed to mourn when their friends died, not jump into bed and joyfully copulate like rabbits. She felt relaxed, so physically peaceful... but that had to be wrong! She should be sad, shouldn't she? Had she betrayed her friend's memory by the enjoyment of mere lust? After learning of a tragedy, such callous pleasure had to be shameful.

And yet... she wondered. Her husband wasn't the sort who mourned. His response to mortality, his own or anyone else's, would be defiance. Perhaps his sudden heat was a symbolic shake of his fist-- mocking death by celebrating life. Knowing what she did of Snape, that actually might make a twisted sort of sense. Severus probably hadn't cared for her friend, but he must have realized that her death had been wrong. He was a fighter of the Dark Arts. Perhaps he was frustrated by the dark he couldn't stop, and the dark that would always threaten. Poor Jeanine had been a philosophy buff. Hermione had a feeling she would have understood.

She walked into the bedroom, conscious of him watching her. Her flesh prickled at the thought of his eyes on her-- moving over her exposed skin the way his hands had earlier done. Part of her was almost revolted, but another part of her wanted him to touch her again, to take her again, and the conflicting thoughts confused her. Why was she thinking this way? It was as though she had lost her autonomy, as though his very presence manipulated her. Why was she in a position where this could happen? As Hermione pulled on her robes, she indulged in a moment of fierce anger at the Ministry of Magic.

That stupid Marriage Law was the crowning glory of Wizarding arrogance. Imagine forcing people to get married! Or rather, only _certain_ people... Muggleborns-- the scapegoats and pariahs of society. It was demeaning and insulting! Muggleborn witches like herself had no choice for their future. The Ministry had sentenced them to marriage as if to a term of incarceration-- a punishment for their ancestry. Hermione had been so proud to enter the Wizarding World, but her reward had been betrayal. She had been sold, put up for bid like a slave at auction, and now she was married to Severus Snape, the very last man she would ever have chosen.

Hermione paused. _But that really wasn't true_. Snape was far from the last person. There were others that fit that category more than he-- ex-deatheaters like Malfoy, for example. She had chosen death rather than place her body, and her very life, into the power of such men, and it was Snape who hadn't let he go through with that. He hadn't let her die, and he hadn't let anyone else kill her. True, he took his conjugal rights very seriously, but compared with what the alternative would have been, that certainly wasn't a hardship. The fact that she enjoyed him was a blessing.

Her friend most surely hadn't been so blessed. Hermione had no idea what her last months had been like, but she was certain they hadn't been pleasant. The letter Jeanine had sent right before her marriage had gushed with happiness that such a noble, and handsome wizard would actually choose her, but Hermione would have bet all the gold she possessed that the poor girl had known only sorrow at his hands before she had died. The contrast between their situations couldn't be more pronounced.

Jeanine had seemed sorry for Hermione because she was marrying Professor Snape, and yet Severus had never hurt her. True, life wasn't easy with him. It was like walking on eggs... or hot coals at times. He was hard to know-- closed and remote, moody and capricious. He could be grouchy one minute, almost companionable the next, and then sternly withdrawn a moment later. It was often a lonely existence because she wanted so much to relate to him, to be his friend, but most of the time he wouldn't let her near enough to do so.

But in spite of all that, it was a certainty that marriage to him had saved her life. He had prevented Jeanine's tragedy from happening to her. He wasn't forcing her into having a baby, he was keeping her in school, and even though he was a snarky, sarcastic individual, he treated her with a measure of respect she had never seen him show to anyone else. And he was good in bed...

Hermione still had no idea why Severus had married her. She had a feeling it had something to do with a "one-upmanship" with Malfoy. But it could easily have been part of his fight against the Dark Arts. Or it could simply have been lust... But even that wasn't really so bad. Jeanine had probably cringed when her husband approached her. Other poor victims probably wished they were dead. How many Muggleborn girls were expecting babies by men they regarded as tyrants or torturers? Hermione was suddenly filled with a surging rush of gratitude.

It didn't make a difference what motivated Severus to take her in marriage. She was just lucky he had done so. It didn't matter that she was embarrassed or confused over the way he made her feel, or how inappropriate her emotions often were. The fact she could take pleasure at all from his attentions was a blessing! She should be grateful for her blessings and not quibble and complain.

She turned to look at him. Warm words seemed to want to bubble up from within her. No matter what she thought of him, he had given her life, and it was a life far better than she had expected. She wanted to tell him that. She wanted to say, "Thank you, Severus. Thank you for marrying me." The impulse almost carried. Severus stared back at her, his dark eyes shields of challenge. Hermione opened her mouth to speak but found that she couldn't. What she wanted to say would only sound silly.

_Thank you for marrying me? _What would he think of that? It would only sound childish and foolish! He would probably just sneer, or laugh, or make some cutting sarcastic remark-- and he wouldn't even mean to be deliberately cruel. Sarcasm came as natural Snape as breathing, and he used it defensively. He wasn't the sort who appreciated, or tolerated, sentimental words, and she would only appear melodramatic-- or at worst-- maudlin. It would be better to hold her peace. Even if he did appreciate her gratitude, he wouldn't let her see it.

Hermione smiled wryly and shook her head. No, Severus Snape wouldn't want to be thanked. It would only make him uncomfortable. He kept people at a distance. If he did anyone a service he always acted as though he really wasn't-- as if he wanted no one indebted to him. Even within the Order, he was never friendly. His helping hand was almost always accompanied by a snarl. It was irritating sometimes, but Hermione understood that this was just the way he was. She walked up to him boldly, gave him a quick hug and kiss, and quietly walked out.


	19. A Question of Duty

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 19: _A Question of Duty_**

At lunch, Hermione answered her friends' queries of, "Where have you been all morning?" with a shrug and a vague, "Had things to do." It was all she needed to say. Neither of the boys questioned her further. They were used to her spending all her time in the library doing research that bored them, and they probably hadn't even gone there to look for her. Harry and Ron only entered the library if she dragged them.

Of course none of her friends would imagine that she had enjoyed an after-breakfast sex romp with the Old Bat of the Dungeon... well, almost none of them. Lavender and Parvati were flirting outrageously with the boys. The boys were busily stuffing their faces. Ginny was glowering angrily at Parvati, but Luna Lovegood was gazing across at her with a dreamy, misty smile-- a smile that said she knew _exactly _what Hermione had been doing. But unlike anyone else, she didn't seem to consider it weird or shocking. Luna seemed happy for her.

Hermione was suddenly conscious of how different things were now. It once would have been just the three of them-- just Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They hadn't usually included anyone else. But suddenly, now that they were older, the situation had radically changed. In the new post-puberty world, everyone seemed eager to explore their emerging sexuality and form new, adult relationships. Hermione, of course, was out of the loop.

The boys didn't seem as hell-bent on pairing as the girls were, but they weren't completely indifferent. Hermione was sitting next to Harry, but his other side had been hotly contested by Ginny and Parvati. Ginny had gotten there first and was stubbornly staking her claim, while Parvati talked at Harry over and across her, even reaching around Ginny's back, to touch him on the shoulder. Thankfully, Harry didn't appear to enjoy that. He was polite to Parvati- in a clueless teen-boy sort of way, but it was clear he really preferred Ginny. _Good,_ thought Hermione. Those two were perfect for each other.

Across from her, Ron was surrounded by Lavender and... Luna. Hermione frowned before smoothing her face into more generous lines. She liked Luna. The girl was a bit strange-- she believed the weirdest things, and she never tried to hide her eccentricities, but she was a good sort. She was a far more tolerable table companion than the shameless flirt on Ron's _other_ side, who was gushing over him sickeningly.

It was odd that Luna, a Ravenclaw, should be sitting at the Gryffindor table. She had been Ginny's friend, but she had never really been a regular in their group before. Now, somehow, she had become incorporated into their informal gang, and she always seemed to be firmly planted next to Ron...

Ron, as usual, seemed oblivious to the quasi-sexual drama that raged about him. He replied to Lavender distractedly as he stuffed his face, and he completely ignored Luna-- or at least he seemed to. Ron didn't appear to acknowledge Luna at all, but as Hermione watched, he occasionally turned to look or speak to her. He did so casually, as if her presence was expected and perfectly natural, and that he took for granted that she would be there. Hermione's stomach tightened. This offhand way was how he had used to treat _her..._ Luna noticed what must have been an unhappy expression on Hermione's face, and gave her an innocently sympathetic look.

"It's awful about Jeanine, isn't it? She used to stick up for me when the other girls hid my books and things. My father says some people are feeding Muggleborn witches to the Crumplehorned Snorkack so that they can't have babies the way the Marriage Law wants. He says some are even enslaving them to the Goblins. It's a good thing you married Professor Snape!"

"Um... yes," Hermione said carefully She actually bit her tongue to keep from replying. When Luna was spouting nonsense, it was best to let her be. _Crumple-Horned Snorkack! When would she stop? _

Ron frowned at Luna when she mentioned Professor Snape, and Hermione felt a bit better. Oh, there _really_ couldn't be anything between them! It was all just her imagination. But she knew, of course, that something along these lines would happen eventually. Ron would fall in love with somebody, and because Hermione was married to Snape, it wouldn't be her. She was beyond the possibility of a normal life. Why was everything so unfair?

As she hung about later with her friends outside in the courtyard, Hermione was feeling confused and disgruntled. Did she really belonged with them anymore? Was she better off spending all of her time in the library or in Snape's study? Did they really want her or care about her? She felt like a third wheel, extra baggage.

"Hey, Granger! Or should I say, Snape..." Draco Malfoy's voice was snide with smug condescension.

Hermione turned, with barely concealed ire, to face the blond wizard who approached flanked by his faithful, muscle-bound cronies. She sensed the others behind her stop and gather around her, Luna and Ginny on one side, Harry and Ron on her other. Draco smirked at them.

"I'm disappointed in you, Granger. I thought you were kind. You should have been the first to offer me your condolences over the loss of my stepmother. Didn't you notice, or didn't you care?"

Hermione ground her teeth. Of course she had noticed! Malfoy had been flaunting his white mourning sash all through breakfast. It had seemed a vulgar, grotesque gesture since she was sure Draco felt no sorrow over Jeanine's death. He simply liked to show off and be the center of attention. It was all a perverted little game to him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Malfoy," she said in terse, clipped tones.

He smirked again, nastily, and Hermione wanted very much to commit assault. What was the matter with him? Didn't a person's life mean anything to him at all?

"Father's devastated, of course," he continued with a drawl. "And so am I. I was very fond of my _pretty _step-mom..." The words made Hermione feel seriously sick.

"But I gave him the best advice I could. I told him to marry again as soon as possible to help him get over his grief. I mean, after all, when I was little and lost my dog, he got me another one right away and I didn't feel sad anymore." He grinned maliciously and Hermione thought she would choke.

"A wife is different from a DOG, Malfoy," she countered coldly, but that only seemed to amuse him.

"If you say so, _Mrs. Snape. _But how sad to lose my poor little brother or sister before it was ever born."

Draco was obviously baiting her, so she said nothing, not trusting herself to speak. She knew he hadn't given a damn about Jeanine or her baby, and had probably helped make her last months a living hell. But, of course, she had no proof of that. He could say whatever he liked and she couldn't prove he was lying.

"But say, Granger. Shouldn't you be providing our Potion's Master with an heir? I would have thought you'd be pregnant at least by _now_. It's your duty you know. I mean, what else are little Mudbloods good for?"

At this point Hermione lost it. _Who did that stinking little ferret think he was?_ _Royalty? A Slytherin Prince? _Prince of Darkness was more like it, except that his father fitted that title closer than he did. Next to Lucius, Draco was only a fiend-in-training...

"So all we're good for is making babies, are we?" she hissed. "Is that because you purebloods aren't having any? Is it because YOU have a fertility problem? How come YOUR mother only managed to produce one little wizard? Did she give up after seeing you, or was she derelict in duty?"

Malfoy's smug, simpering face turned suddenly ugly, and his likeness to his father became uncanny. His color drained to deathly white, and he took a step forward, clenching his fists, to scream furiously at her.

"How DARE you insult my mother! How dare you call her derelict in duty! You don't know anything about her, anything at all! You're just a Mudblood. What could you know about a _real_ witch's duty?"

Hermione was so startled by this wild, unexpected burst of rage that she took an involuntary step back. Draco seemed crazy-- out of his mind with anger. His eyes bulged, his teeth were bared, and his whole body shook as he began to advance upon her, his voice trembling with the force of his fury.

"My mother's the greatest witch of the age! Better than YOU could ever hope to be! She's always done her duty, ALWAYS-- no matter what it was, no matter how _hard_! It wasn't her fault I'm the only Malfoy heir. She suffered! She sacrificed! And she did her duty by all the squibs, even though it hurt! So don't tell me my mother is derelict. _You're not fit to lick her feet!"_ He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. "Take back that insult or I'll blast you!"

Hermione whipped out her own wand and faced him down. In a wizard's duel, she was as good or better that he was, and she planned to show him that. Malfoy's henchmen advanced eagerly, but Hermione's friends closed ranks around her.

"You know Draco, Hermione wouldn't have said anything at all about your mother if you hadn't insulted _her_ first. I think _YOU_ should apologize." Luna's voice was reasonable and serene, but her wand was making lazy circles in the air. Her words or her presence seemed to incense him even more.

"Shut up you Loony freak! You're just as bad! Mudblood shit and blood-traitors deserve to be insulted!"

"It's YOU who deserve the insult, Draco!" Hermione retorted scathingly. "Anyone who judges people because of who their parents are is _stupid!_ It's what people DO that's important, not where they come from."

But then she paused for a moment. He _had_ lost a mother, and she knew what that felt like. Against her better wishes, she felt a tiny stab of sympathy for Malfoy. Wealthy though he was, Draco was wretchedly poor because no one had ever taught him kindness or love. "I'm sorry about your mother," she added softly.

"You'd better be!" he snarled, lowering his wand so that they all relaxed a little. "Say anything about her again and I won't care if you're married to my Head of House. I'll hex you into bloody pieces!"

"Not if we get you first!" warned Harry. "Now get out of here!"

"You can't order me around, you no-good, half-blood sod!" Malfoy's wand was again poised for battle.

"Just try us!" growled Ginny, whose wand was also ready for business.

"We'll ALL hex you." Ron looked resolutely grim.

"And if you survive Ginny's Bat Bogey Hex, I'll turn your hair into snakes! It's called the Medusa charm, and I just can't _wait_ to try it. The snakes bite, by the way."

Luna's dreamy voice was crazily sweet, and Malfoy looked at her suddenly as if he couldn't decide if she were utterly ridiculous or utterly frightening. Caution won, and he put down his wand. The odds were five against three, with the disadvantage to Slytherin-- odds no one from the House of the Snake would willingly accept. Draco tossed his head arrogantly.

"Yeah, right! Like we're scared," he sneered, doing his best to appear as if he wasn't. The goons on either side of him grinned stupidly. It obviously hadn't sunk into them yet that the fight was over. "Come on, let's not waste our time with these losers!" He motioned to leave, and his henchmen looked instantly disappointed.

Sauntering away, he called over his shoulder, "No dueling in the halls, you stupid Gryffindors! You might get detention! Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Granger. My dad sends his regards. As much as he enjoyed his last wife, he _really _wanted you."

Hermione gulped in sick revulsion. It was true. Lucius had petitioned her, and if she hadn't married Severus, the Ministry could have given her to him. _Except she would have died first_. She would have jumped from the tower, or opened her wrists, or taken a dose of lethal poison... Or would she? Would she have really done that? Was it possible the Avada Kadavra hadn't worked on her because her will to live was too strong? Would she have shrunk from the final act, no matter which method she tried?

The instinct for self preservation was basic to all life, but to those endowed with intelligence, self awareness, and the concept of morality, self preservation was more than just a will to survive-- it was a duty to preserve something precious. _No, she couldn't have done it_. Severus had been right when he told her that suicide was a coward's way out. A Gryffindor had to face life and never give up. She would have met Malfoy bravely, with her wand firmly in hand, and fought him for as long as she could...

Harry shook his wand in the direction of the retreating Slytherins. "Poisonous scum! His deatheater father probably killed that poor girl, and he only thinks it's funny!" He looked at Hermione, as he continued bitterly. "I hate Snape! I'll _always_ hate him, but for once I'm GLAD you married him! He may be a bastard, but at least you're alive. Better him than Malfoy."

The group around her nodded in sympathy, and Hermione warmed with the sense of belonging. Circumstances had made her profoundly different, but in moments like these, it was a comfort to know she wasn't alone. Harry and Ron looked ready to fight the world for her. Ginny was a younger version of her lioness mother, and Luna was just there-- quiet and smiling-- like a silent shield or a strengthening shadow. Lavender and Parvati, of course, had left at the first sign of trouble. The cream had risen to the top.

Days later, as she was finishing her homework in Snape's study, Hermione still remained troubled by the encounter with Malfoy. Apart from the fact that it concerned Jeanine's death, she didn't know why it should continue to bother her so deeply. Yes, it had been an ugly confrontation-- one that had raised a hideous picture of the moral home-life of the Malfoys, but there was no real surprise in any of that.

She had already known they were evil, and that poor Jeanine had probably died at their hands, but it _was_ worse, somehow, to have it all flung in her face, to see it gloated over and sneered over... It had been hard to see the evidence that her friend's life had meant nothing to them-- like a disposable drink to be bought, consumed, and discarded. But she had known this already too. As Severus had once told her, evil was a constant.

Still, there was something else about the conversation that weighed upon her and made her recollect and repeat it as best she could, over and over in her memory, trying to decipher something else that Malfoy wasn't saying-- something significant. There _was _something significant here. There had to be because of the odd way Draco had acted. He had been almost crazed with anger, something he usually never was.

In all the years Hermione had known Draco, she had rarely seen him out of control. He was usually better composed than Harry was. It was _Harry_ who would lose his cool over some provocation of Draco's. The haughty Slytherin usually just sneered and insulted, or baited and taunted his victims. In fact, he had begun the encounter just that way-- jeering at her because of her Muggleborn status, and belittling the life of her poor dead friend. He had been laughing at her, and then he had changed and erupted into violent rage.

Hermione felt a little guilty. Draco seemed to have lost his control because she had insulted his mother. That had been insensitive and cruel. True, he had insulted _her _and all her friends, but that didn't excuse her from stooping to his level and being as nasty as he was. Normally she would _never _have spoken ill of someone's dead mother-- especially since her own parents' death had been so tragically recent. She really should have known better! No wonder he was so mad.

But there was something odd here too. Some of what he had said didn't made sense. He had spoken of duty and some sort of sacrifice. What sacrifice? Had Narcissa been sick? Had she lost a baby? Many babies? A sudden, infuriating picture of Wizard culture emerged as she imagined poor Mrs. Malfoy enduring multiple miscarriages as she dutifully tried to breed purebloods under a callous lack of medical care. She wondered what Draco's home-life had been like. Hermione herself was an only child, as her mother had been unable to have any more, and that sad fact had defined her existence.

She picked up the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet, _and sighed as she mused about her childhood. Being the only egg in her parents' basket had been much more of a burden than a blessing. Her parents had lavished all their attention and resources upon her, but they had been very demanding as well. They had seemed to live vicariously through her-- taking her achievements as vindication of their own worth, and viewing her failures as failures of their own. She wondered what it would have been like if she had had some siblings to take off some of the pressure. How different life would have been!

Perhaps Draco had been under similar pressure. He was the only son of a proud, pureblood family. Maybe his parents had been angry when he was shown up over and over on the Quiddich field by the half-blood Harry Potter. Perhaps every time she, a Muggleborn witch, received higher grades than he did, they took it out on him. Perhaps he was forever seeking their approval, only to continually fall short. _Honestly! Why do parents do this? _

Hermione solemnly promised herself that if she were to someday have a child, she would NEVER put that sort of pressure upon it. She would be the best, kindest, most patient mother she could be! She wondered how Severus would be as a father, and glanced over at him as he sat at his desk correcting papers. But how silly to be thinking this. Severus didn't want children. That was why she was on birth control.

She suddenly felt a chill of apprehension. Did it look suspicious that she wasn't pregnant? Was that what was bothering her so much about that conversation with Malfoy? If Draco was raising the question, perhaps others would too. How long before there was an official inquiry? What would be done to her if it was discovered she was using Muggle birth control? Severus could always claim ignorance, but SHE surely would be punished. Would she go to Azkeban, or would they give her to someone else?

A swift shudder of fear choked her. _She didn't want to have to marry someone else! _She was safe with Severus. He was taking care of her, and even though he was difficult to deal with sometimes, he was preferable to anyone the Ministry would give her to. Besides, she... _liked _him. Hermione had actually come to regard Snape as a friend-- a prickly, sort of "hot potato" type of friend-- but a friend nonetheless. And she rather liked sleeping with him... She wouldn't even mind having a baby with him if it would keep her from having to go to someone else, someone she didn't even know.

But it wouldn't come to that. Her pills weren't marked "birth control." Those idiots at the Ministry could hold them in their hands and they'd never know what they were! Or she hoped... Hermione began to quickly page through the _Prophet, _scanning all the articles to look for key words that might be a reference to Muggle birth control. If she had some warning that wizards were beginning to understand to this particular bit of Muggle science, she would be ready. Then stupid comments like Malfoy's would have less power to unsettle her...

Thankfully, none of the articles contained anything alarming. Beyond a report of a captured dark wizard who had attacked a family outside of Aberdeen, most of what was in the paper was boring. There was a promotion in the International Affairs department, a rise in the price of wand-wood, an impending strike at a wizard gold mine in Africa, and a retirement dinner for some senior Ministry official. Nothing, in short, that actually affected her.

With a sinking heart, she read the betrothal announcements on the Personal page, and saw that Lucius Malfoy had taken his son's odious advice and had found another Muggleborn bride-- a witch named Emma Twiddle. Miss Twiddle hadn't gone to Hogwarts but to one of the lesser wizarding schools, so Hermione didn't know her. But she could only feel sorry for her. And it seemed cruelly outrageous that her engagement should appear already-- when it was only days ago that the obituary of Malfoy's last wife was in the next column. The effrontery to show such blatant callousness sickened her.

As she glanced over the Obituary column, she caught the name "McNair" and paused. It seemed too bizarre a coincidence, but there it was, the fifth name down-- Evelyn Pritchard McNair, wife of Waldon McNair, the sadistic ex-deatheater. _This really was too much of a coincidence_... Except that Evelyn hadn't died from anything related to pregnancy, as Jeanine had. She had been attacked by a dark wizard-- the same dark wizard who had been apprehended in the article on the first page.

Hermione flipped back and read the article again. The dark wizard, who appeared to be raving mad, had broken into a residence and fired off unforgivable curses at random before being subdued. The article reported that only one person, a witch, had been killed, but it didn't mention her by name. Hermione sniffed with irritation. Was that because she was only a Muggleborn? Or was it simply poor reporting and bad writing? _Even Rita Skeeter would have included a NAME..._

She folded the paper in disgust. Wizard newspapers didn't seem to be any more informative or well written than Muggle newspapers. There was still too much missing information, too many ubiquitous facts repeated over and over, too much sensationalism, and too much bias. It was either dry, empty trivia, or stupid gossip and hearsay-- not to mention ridiculous advertising. An ad for the Kwik-Spell mail-order course jumped out at her from the back page and she grimaced.

Well, that was proof that the _Daily Prophet _was no _London Times! _Any paper that ran ads for such bogus products was more of a Tabloid than a serious newspaper. They ought to be ashamed! Perhaps the name should be the _Daily Profit _if all they cared about was making shady gold. Kwik-Spell was a rip-off because it sold empty dreams to poor, disadvantaged weak wizards and squibs. It wasn't fair! She suddenly paused...

_Malfoy had said something about squibs--_ something about his mother doing the "right thing" about them. He had been talking about duty. Surely anything a Malfoy considered _right_ couldn't actually be good, but there had been a _Dr. Malfoy _in London... Were there Malfoy Squibs? Did Draco have squib siblings? But why had he said it had been painful for his mother, that she had suffered?

"Severus?" She ventured, interrupting him as he was busily correcting papers, his quill making a scritching sound as he wrote his scathing comments. "What happens to squibs in the Wizard World?"

There was instant stillness. Snape's quill stopped its constant scratching, and in the pause before he spoke, the silence was leaden.

"Why do you ask?" It was an almost whispered reply, and Hermione felt the skin on her neck prickle. She had the sensation of having trodden too close to a hornets' nest, and could almost actually feel the vibration of angry buzzing. Snape's face had the closed expression of his shield-wall having snapped into place. Hermione felt a shiver of foreboding. _Why should it_ _bother him? _

Her mouth was dry with sudden nervousness. She had obviously stumbled onto something bad-- something that everyone born to this world probably knew but never spoke of. Some nasty little family secret kept carefully hidden-- like an aunt's affair, a cousin's bulimia, or an uncle's perverted interest in boys... This was probably like prying into one of Severus' dark books, but she felt that it was important. She HAD to know. She'd never rest until she did. No matter how awful it was...


	20. A Terrible Answer

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 20: _A Terrible Answer_**

"Severus, what happens to squibs in the Wizard World?"

Snape felt as though he had been ambushed and struck from behind. The room suddenly seemed extra cold, and for a moment he was completely incapable of speech. Of all the things to inquire! And why now, out of the blue, with no warning? _Did she know something? What had she heard?_

"Why do you ask?" he uttered in a whispering hiss. His inner horror must have shown in his face because when he met Hermione's eyes, he saw her flinch a little-- as if she sensed she had just hit upon a dangerous taboo, and was now in trouble... She looked nervous and flustered, utterly surprised at his reaction, but she didn't back down. The Gryffindor lioness was poised for battle, relentless in her dubious quest for truth.

"It's because of something Malfoy said to me the other day," she replied.

His stomach clenched at the name. So Malfoy was to blame for this. _Somehow, it always had to be_ _Malfoy..._ He composed his expression carefully, managed a derisive snort, and picked up his quill again as if in preparation to go on with his work. As he spoke, he raised an ironic eyebrow.

"I had no idea you were on such pleasant terms with Mr. Malfoy that you were in the habit of conversing with him on a regular basis."

"I'm not! It was unavoidable," Hermione explained with a grimace. "HE forced conversation on ME! He was talking... laughing... about the death of his _stepmother, _my friend Jeanine, and he mentioned his own mother." She paused for a minute to swallow carefully. "He said something about duty, and about his mother doing the right thing by squibs. What did he mean by that? What is the 'right thing,' Severus?"

He put down the quill and tried to keep his face unreadable _What dark star hung over him that she should ask this?_ _And why should she ask it of HIM? _This was one of those unmentionables that he didn't want to have to explain, or even think about. No one did. There were shadowy secrets in wizard history, cruel, dark traditions. Such things were considered long abandoned. But there were still practices no one was completely sure weren't still going on in secret...

Where Darkness existed, such things would always be. He had seen them first hand, and his family legacy was something he wanted to shield Hermione from. But he knew her boundless curiosity. If he didn't give her an answer, she would seek it some other way. She would dig and dig until she eventually found something. But who knew what she would find?

_ "This is your baby brother, Severus. Your very own brother! You have to help _

_ me take care of him and keep him safe. His name is Felix."_

"Are you really sure you wish to know, Hermione?" he asked softly.

If only she would take warning from his tone and back down. But, of course she didn't. She was Pandora all over again-- innocently hell-bent on opening a poisonous box. Except that Hermione wasn't completely innocent. She knew there was darkness in the box, but she just had to have a look in it anyway. Typical Gryffindor! Couldn't walk away from a danger without first challenging it to a duel! Perhaps she _needed_ a little disillusionment. But he would be careful what he said.

"Squibs among wizards, Hermione, are seen as failures-- objects of pity, scorn, and embarrassment. Today most "empty" children are fostered out among Muggles. There are even occasional exchanges between wizard families with squibs and Muggle families with magical children, but such arrangements are rare. The Muggle world has always held "changelings" in suspicion-- often with good reason.

But in the past, before wizard adoption agencies, before the Ministry of Magic, before many of the laws and regulations that now exist in our world, these "empty" children were simply eliminated-- abandoned, killed, or sold as slaves-- depending upon the era. Traditional wizard clans were often Dark, and they considered "failed" children to be a disgrace to their family's name and honor. So they pulled them like weeds from a garden, and they did so in private.. to hide the family shame."

Hermione's face looked predictably shocked. Her hands moved up automatically to cover her mouth. "Oh, but they couldn't! Not their own children! How could they be so heartless?"

"The Dark Lord met his first downfall attempting to murder a one year old baby. Heartlessness is a common attribute among dark wizards. They are actually quite Darwinian in outlook. Survival depends upon worth, and they obviously do not regard life as sacred."

"But how could they be sure? Doesn't magic show up differently for each person? Some people don't show any magical ability until they're almost ten!"

"They _couldn't_ be sure, Hermione. Hundreds of juvenile wizards have probably died needlessly over the centuries because of parental impatience-- and fear. Some pureblood families also saw late development as unpardonable. Of course, had these children lived they would have been dark wizards..."

"But that's just awful! It doesn't still go on, does it? Draco's mother couldn't have _murdered _her other children. She just couldn't have! She must have given them up for adoption. She HAD to!"

Hermione's eyes pleaded with him to tell her that this was so, and Severus wished with all his heart that he could do that, but he didn't believe in sparing people with lies and platitudes. The truth, however bad, was always preferable. Thankfully, in this case, he had no real proof either way.

"I have no idea what Narcissa Malfoy did with her "empty" or delayed offspring. It is best NOT to conjecture. Most wizards believe that the old ways have died out and that such heinous practices are ancient history, but no one is truly sure. No one knows for certain what really goes on in dark households, and few look too closely or pry too deeply."

He watched Hermione's expression change from mortified shock to righteous rage. Her color blazed and her eyes flamed with crusader-like fury. In a detached portion of his mind, Severus marveled that the Gryffindor traits that irritated him in everyone else should appear so beautiful in his wife. Tragically beautiful. She always carried a torch for the downtrodden and oppressed, heedless of the fact that such eager little torches had a habit of being trampled and snuffed out. If only that fate could be spared her.

"_What do you mean they don't look or pry?" _she shouted. "They should! SOMEBODY should investigate!" She paused and then continued with a hint of vindication, "But they DO investigate Dark families! They conduct raids! Ron's father even raided the Malfoy mansion once!"

"He didn't find anything, did he?" Snape asked softly. "Raids are only of value if they find some hard physical evidence. Anyone practicing dark deeds is wise to carefully hide such evidence. And it isn't hard, actually."

"But they _can't _conceal a CHILD'S disappearance! Somebody HAS to notice if there are more pregnancies than actual children. People KNOW when a family is suddenly missing a child! They can't hide THAT!"

"Oh, but they can, Hermione." His voice was almost a whisper now. "If they wish... in blatant, plain sight. It happens all too often that witches or their babies die in childbirth. Few want to intrude upon a family's legitimate grief-- even later to ask if a child had been lost through adoption. No one wants to know. Children can be sent away. They can be carefully sequestered from outsiders. And they can have accidents...

Hermione suddenly went white again. "Accidents..." she whispered in a stricken voice. "Neville told me his uncle dropped him out of a window to see if he was magic. If he hadn't bounced, he would have died... How can people DO such things!" Tears shone in her eyes. "_What sort of a world IS this?_ And I thought Neville's family was good!"

"Neville's uncle was probably more _stupid_ than dark! Although, in the light of this information, Longbottom's behavior over the years suddenly makes perfect sense to me."

"In the Muggle world, it would be called 'child abuse'. And it IS investigated and prosecuted!" Hermione stated judiciously. "This sick, backward world should do the same!"

"If it is any consolation, Hermione, I agree with you. But few wizards would take kindly to any _ne_w laws. Most feel the regulations we have are already too intrusive. And I must say, considering the Ministry in its currently state, I'd have little faith that it could handle the job."

There was a very long pause in which Hermione stared sadly into the distance and Severus gazed helplessly at pain he could do nothing about. He didn't know any words that would be appropriate to say, and he didn't know how to apologize (had he even wanted to) for the faults of his world. Snape had learned to be a realist. The world was flawed, and he accepted it-- even as he did his best to survive those flaws, and perhaps change what little he could. The Don Quixotes who tilted at dragons often died. He hoped it wouldn't take too long for Hermione to learn this. As the silence went on, he picked up his quill to again attack his pile of essays.

"Severus?" Hermione's voice sounded very small. He paused. "Severus, if we were to have a baby... and it turned out to be a squib... what would you do?"

The quill dropped clatteringly onto the table and ink spattered over the essays. For a moment Snape almost couldn't breathe. _Why had she asked that? She couldn't think... She really, really_ _couldn't think..._ Blood rushed to his head in a thundering flood and his ears pounded with it. A red haze settled over his vision and he found himself shaking as he rose to stare down at his wife, trying with all his might to contain his fury.

"You don't honestly think I would kill it, do you? he hissed savagely. "Do you think I'm a MONSTER? Like Malfoy? Like the Darklord?" _Like my father?_

Hermione visibly quailed. His reaction seemed to have shocked her more than the words he shouted. More tears ran down her face.

"NO!" she shouted back desperately. "I didn't mean that!You WOULDN'T! I know you wouldn't do anything like that!" She paused with pleading eyes. "What I meant was, if we had a child--"

"We aren't going to have a child," he interrupted. "It isn't going to happen!"

"But if it did--"

"It won't! That is why you are using the Muggle birth control-- so that you do NOT have a child."

"But accidents can still happen-- even taking the pills. No form of birth control is one hundred percent effective!"

Snape felt like an iceberg had aparated into his gut. "You never told me that!" he whispered. "You never told me there was a possibility of it failing!"

Now it was Hermione's turn to look incredulous-- and angry. "I shouldn't have had to! Common Sense would tell you that NOTHING works perfectly all the time! Haven't you heard of Murphy's Law? Even _Magical_ birth control isn't a hundred percent effective!"

"Magical contraception works perfectly if it is _prepared_ perfectly!" Snape replied icily. "It only fails if it is improperly made."

"Oh sure!" She countered belligerently, hands on hips. "Or it fails if the dose doesn't match the witch's magical strength, or if the ingredients were just _slightly _contaminated, or if there is interference from other potions or charms, or it a FLY passes over the cauldron while it is brewing, or even if there are stray magical fields in the air! It _does_ fail occasionally, and no one really knows why!"

Severus felt sick. She was absolutely right. He should have thought of this, but like a fool, he hadn't even doubted the effectiveness of those damned Muggle pills. He had been so hell-bent eager to get Hermione into his bed that he had never considered that every time he indulged himself with her that he could still be making her pregnant... And it was far too late now. He had tasted the forbidden fruit, and knew what it was like to hold her and love her. He'd never be able to keep his hands off her now.

"If it happened... If we had a baby," Hermione persisted miserably, her voice already fearfully bereft. "If it was a squib... _would you make me give it away?"_

He tried to soften his own voice, even though he knew there would be no cushion for his words. "Don't you think, Hermione, that that would really be the kindest solution after all?"

"NO!" she wailed in anguish. "How could it be _kind _to reject your own child? How could it be kind to treat it like garbage-- to push it away and never see it again?"

"Even if it would always be different, an outcast? Even if it would never fit in?"

"_I was different!_ I was a witch in a Muggle family, and yes it was hard, but I survived!"

"You were different with a _plus_, Hermione," Snape continued in a tired voice. "A squib would be different with a _minus_. That difference matters."

"It wouldn't matter to me!" she answered fiercely.

"It_ should_." His voice was stern. "I can't think of anything more heinously cruel than to keep a child in a world where he'll never be able to function. To make him witness day in and day out all the promise he'll never have. To put him where he'll always be left behind, stranded on the sidelines, worse than handicapped, life passing him by. To look, but never to touch. Can't you see it would be Hell, Hermione?"

"Not as much Hell as knowing your parents didn't want you."

Hermione's words were desolate and tears swam again in her eyes. There was a chilling note in her voice, and Severus recognized he was seeing a glimpse of some personal agony that he didn't fully understand. His wife's parents hadn't been monsters. They had loved her. And yet still there was a shadow here of lingering pain, a pain every bit as real as his own, but from a completely foreign source. _Knowing your parents didn't want you... But they had, hadn't they?_

There was another long pause in which Snape collected his thoughts. The silence that hovered over them was accusing and full of buried pain. No, Hermione would never be able to abandon a child. She might be persuaded to send one away to Muggle boarding school when the time came, but she would never, ever cast it away. She was a loving person, and she would fight to her last breath for anyone she loved. If only she loved him...

"If... there is a child..." he spoke stiffly. "...and it proves to be a squib... I will not force you to take any action you do not wish... even if I disagree with your decision." _I am not a monster._

He stalked quickly out of the study after saying this, leaving the ink-spattered essays to molder on the desk, to walk blindly and aimlessly though the dungeon corridors. He strode throughout the school, down the odd, twisting passageways, places he usually prowled looking for out-of-bound students. But had there been any errant students, he probably would have passed right by them. He was seeing other halls and other corridors, the darkness around him, and within him, taking him back in time if not space.

There was a cackling sound ahead, and Snape, barely hearing it, rounded a corner to catch Peeves setting fire to a curtain. He swiftly doused the fire with his wand and blasted the poltergeist out of the area, but not before seeing a face leer out at him from a picture on the wall-- a face that stirred his blood to ice cold bubbling lava...

He stopped and made himself turn to confront it, wand out and ready, but instead of a fiend from Hell attacking him, he found that it was only a mirror... and in that mirror, his own stark, hook-nosed face looked back at him framed by his long greasy black hair. Just his own face, that was all. But for a second, when the flames and smoke had been obscuring his vision, he thought he had seen something else-- a face like his own, framed with hair of wavy blondish white. Snape shuddered. _I am not a monster._

_ "Please,_ _Septimus._ _Please just give him a little more time! I'm sure that's all_

_ it will take. He's only three!"_

_ "Your other brat, Severus, showed signs of magic at ONE year of age. This one_

_ is obviously defective!"_

Severus, the man, hurried quickly away down more dark castle corridors, barely slowing to turn corners, feet pounding as if racing to get away from the ghosts in his mind. But the ghosts kept pace with him. This time the memories were determined to stay with him, one scene relentless to play itself out in his head...

_ "But please! Every child is different! Some just take longer. My older brother_

_ didn't show any magic until he was five, and my younger one till he was eight!"_

_ "Your brothers are weak and pathetic! They should have been culled at birth! _

_ I would be ashamed to own such retarded offspring, and so should you!"_

Even the frigid air at the top of the Astronomy Tower failed to dispel the attack in his mind. He was powerless to stop remembering. He had been six... only six... And though he had known even then that his world was far from comfortable or happy, it was that night that he had begun to learn just what a hell it really was.

_ "Don't do this. Please, don't do it!"_

_ "Hush woman! I had hoped you'd have the strength and the honor to take care_

_ of this yourself, but you're obviously weak like the rest of your family!_ _Give me _

_ that miserable squib! You're going to pop out another in a month anyway."_

_ "No! I won't let you!_ _I won't let you take him!"_

Snape gripped the edge of the battlements, the thick snow covering and numbing his hands. He gulped frantic lungfulls of the freezing cold air, and tried hard to banish the memories, but he couldn't. He could still hear the voices, still remember the terror, still feel the little-boy anger that had led him to fling himself between his mother and his father and fight desperately with flailing fists yelling, "Don't hurt them! Don't hurt them!"

The memory blurred into soul-killing pain as he recollected his father's snarl and curse. He felt again the helpless hurt of hitting the cold stone floor, writhing under the agony of the Cruciatus, his ears still full of his mother's sobs and his brother's terrified screams. That had been the last he had seen of his brother. His mother had not survived her labor, and after that, his father hadn't let him alone...

Eventually the January chill penetrated deep enough into him to freeze the memories back into the icy hell where they belonged. It was a comforting cold, a clean frigidness that served to calm his racing heart and give him a small measure of peace. It would almost be tempting to let the ice take him completely, to sink into the clean, tranquil coldness and leave what was left of him behind for some poor student to find in the morning.

But that would be cowardice and dishonor. If he let himself die here, the monsters from his past would win after all-- and it was HE who had defeated and destroyed them, HE who had won._ All they were now was memories. _Memories he could survive.And apart from that, there was Hermione who still needed him. He couldn't let memories from the dead past stop him from protecting her. Severus stepped away from the battlements and moved slowly and stiffly back into the castle.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione waited up a little before going to bed, hoping that Severus would return before she went to sleep. She didn't like leaving a gap between them, an empty, gaping hole of hostility and misunderstanding. Even though it seemed that she learned more about her husband when they were fighting than when they coexisted peacefully, she didn't want to leave their relationship in a sort of spiritual dangle.

She wanted a closure, a grounding, a feeling of resolution-- a silly desire since her husband was Snape, but she wanted it all the same.All she had done was to ask a question, but by doing so, she had stepped on a raging hornets nest, or crossed some invisible line. Somehow, she had innocently touched a very sore spot with him, and had unleashed a storm of personal darkness. Hermione wanted desperately to understand him. She wanted to know what it was that caused that closed, haunted look in his eyes, and what drove himto stalk out of the room in such an angry way. _She wanted to know if she could help him._

But Snape didn't want anyone to help him, or understand him. She already knew about his emotional armor, his enigmatic past, and his reluctance to open himself-- even just a little bit. By now she should have been used to it, but she wasn't. It still shocked her every time he reacted out of proportion to something she did or said. It still hurt her deeply whenever she inadvertently set him off in some way.

If he had to overreact, why couldn't he do so positively? This altercation had been about a terrible topic, but there had been so many other times that he had exploded into sudden ire over what, to her, had been innocuous. Why couldn't he occasionally burst out into unexpected laughter instead of irritation?_ Unless he couldn't help it. _Perhaps her dark and secretive husband had scars buried so deep in his psyche that if touched could only spark fire. Perhaps he was still hurting. They had been discussing child abuse. _Had Severus been a victim?_

Snape spoke so little about his past and Hermione often wondered what his childhood had been like. She wondered now if he had suffered as a child, and her heart went out to him. She pictured a small, pale, dark-haired boy cowering from shadowy, faceless terrors in a dark, menacing house-- a picture she had to fashion out of her own imagination since the house she had seen was no longer menacing.

When she had visited his home, that house had shown no visible sign that Severus had even _had_ a past. She had explored just about every room in it and had found nothing at all to indicate that her husband had actually grown up there. There had been no old treasures, no ancient toys, no keepsakes from his boyhood. Hermione had found no family portraits, beyond that isolated picture of the girl reading a book. She had no idea what Snape's parents had looked like, or if her husband had ever had siblings. It was as if the house had belonged to someone else, or had been recently wiped clean.

And Snape didn't like to speak of it. The few little bits of information that she possessed had only been dropped her way by accident. Hermione knew so little, and what she did know could probably fit on one hand. She knew his mother had been given dark potion books but had not been a dark witch. She knew that the poor woman had died when Severus was only six, and had probably been very unhappy. She also knew there had been a couple of nasty sounding aunts that Severus went pale when he mentioned.

All that pointed to a possible abusive situation.But what was really the story? What had happened to little Severus Snape in that dark, imposing mansion by the sea? What had caused him to be the closed, guarded, unhappy man that he was? And did she really want to know?

Severus, of course, would never tell her. He was very like Neville, who had kept it secret that his parents were insane in St. Mungos. But it was odd that Neville would talk about his abusive uncles but not mention his parents... Perhaps Severus was right that Neville's uncles were more stupid than cruel. It was the truly cruel things in the past that people never spoken of. _What sort of a monster do you think I am? _And Snape had been furiously angry that she had associated him with cruelty to children...

Hermione was hovering on the edge of sleep when her husband returned. He stalked silently into the bedroom, undressed in the dark, and slid into bed beside her. He said nothing and seemed to be trying not to wake her. Sinking into the twilight of slumber, Hermione was vaguely conscious of the fact that he was cold, that the parts of him that brushed against her were chilled as though he had been standing outside in the freezing winter air. It puzzled her somewhat, but she was too far down the road to unconsciousness to think much about it. She simply recorded the observation somewhere in her brain as she drifted off, wondering where he had been.

Later in the night she was jolted awake by her husband's moaning and thrashing as he fought whatever darkness still haunted him in his nightmares.

"No! No, stop it! Don't do it! DON'T"

She instantly began shaking him in order to wake him up, to free him as fast as she could from whatever torment he was facing.

"Severus! Severus, wake up! You're dreaming again!"

Snape gave a sudden cry and bolted straight up into a sitting position, gasping for breath, and shaking all over.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm fine!" he practically snarled. "No need to worry. It's only a dream! Go back to sleep."

He sat in up in bed for a few minutes, still panting to catch his breath. Hermione could smell the acrid scent of fear that radiated from his sweat-drenched night-robes and feel the bed tremble slightly from his shaking. She wondered what horror had walked through his dreams. Had it been a terror from his childhood? Had he been callously dropped from a window, or pushed off a cliff to save himself by magic, or had it been someone else who had been hurt? His voice when he had cried out had been more anguished than angry. It had been desolate as much as horrified.

After a few moments he settled down, still shaking but not as badly. Hermione felt frustrated with helpless pity. He was hurting and she wanted desperately to help him. True, he had been nasty to her when she had woke him up, a wounded animal striking out, but this was just the way he was. And how could anyone be in the presence of such obvious suffering and not want to do something?

Without letting herself think first so as to hesitate, Hermione turned over and wormed her way close to him, wrapping an arm over his chest and nestling her head on his shoulder. He stiffened when she touched him, his breath catching in his throat, but Hermione only held him tighter. _That_ _darned pride of his! Why couldn't he just accept a little kindness? _

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," he whispered, his voice as stiff as his body. "I don't need any help."

"I know you don't, Severus," she whispered. "But I need to give it. I can't _not _do this. Please don't push me away."

Again, there was a long, drawn out pause-- an impasse wherein an immovable object battled an irresistible force.The force eventually was victorious. Snape began to relax, his stiffness faded, and he turned and took her in his arms...


	21. Two Confrontations

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 21: _Two Confrontations _**

Severus glowered at the detention victim hunched over his paper, writing furiously. The student never glanced at him, his face averted, and there was no trace of submission, or of contrition, in the set of his shoulders or the jerky, belligerent movement of his quill. Hate seemed to radiate from him like an aura, smoldering resentment like a nimbus around his head. Snape crossed his arms a little tighter in irritation. Why was it always _Potter_ who gave him so much trouble? It had to be some sort of curse that he couldn't even get any satisfaction from punishing him! And the stupid child never learned.

His normal antipathy for Harry was magnified by the fact that he had caught him attacking Malfoy from behind. Had he passed by either a moment sooner or later, Snape might have missed the whole miserable thing. But by chance he had turned a corner at just the right time to witness Potter step out from behind his invisibility cloak to fire a paralyzing hex on his godson. The foul sneakiness of it all, and the memory of all the times James had done such things to _him, _caused his anger to practically choke him. Only years of painfully learned control had kept him from blasting the boy on the spot.

Instead he could only give him a week's worth of detentions. That was what he was _supposed_ to mete out for rough-housing, pranks, and unauthorized dueling, but he wished with all his might that he could take a page out of the false Moody's book and turn his victim into a ferret, or a mouse, and bounce him hard on the floor. The fact that Potter had shown no repentance had made it worse.

"Malfoy deserved it!" he had said, gazing boldly at Severus with those awful green eyes. The sad thing was that he was probably right.

Severus had no delusions as to his godson's behavior. Draco was a Malfoy after all. But he wasn't a copy of Lucius. Despite growing up in that tainted house, he was far from the level of his father's evil. He was haughty and spoiled, and had been taught to be cruel, but he wasn't sadistic. And there was a defensiveness to his showing off, a nuance of buried hurt from indulgent yet neglectful parenting. Draco had been almost pathetically eager to please him, and Severus had tried to give him some strength and discipline. The promise that Draco was _not _his father made Snape hope for better from him.

Of course Harry wasn't his father either and Snape knew it. He had nowhere near the swaggering arrogance, or the penchant for thoughtless cruelty that James had at that age, but the seeds were there. Snape had noticed a defiant cockiness that first day in class. There had even been a spark of it in the child's face the first time their eyes had locked at the Sorting Ceremony. From the very beginning he had wanted to stamp out that cockiness and nip any James-like tendencies in the bud-- all for the boy's own good of course.

Today, Snape was making him copy records of past detention, records dating back to the days of the Marauders. _Let him see the sort of nastiness his "sainted" father got up to in school!_ James and his gang had been the ultimate of practical jokers. Nothing had delighted them more than attacking from behind. Potter was always lurking behind that cloak, delivering unseen blows, invisible pinches, or a hidden foot stuck out to trip. And he loved the creative use of hexes...

Snape approached Harry and gazed over his tight resentful shoulder. "Ah, yes," he murmured softly, "Here's a typical misdemeanor. Magical attack on an unarmed student. Use of Hunchback Hex-- which is very painful, by the way. And the perpetrators? Well, well. James Potter and Sirius Black..."

Harry Potter scribbled the rest of the card, jerked it onto the finished pile, and started on a new one. Murderous fury clouded his face.

"Hmm... Potter and Black again. How coincidental. Unprovoked attack on a student. Said student needed Hospital wing. Attack deemed premeditated due to the use of _ambush. _Interesting. Do you, perhaps, see a connection?"

"No." Potter's voice was stony.

"No? Attack by ambush? On a student unarmed? Two students against one, the attackers behind a cloak..."

"It was me against Malfoy, not two against one! And he deserved it. He's attacked me often enough, and you've never punished him!"

"I punish every student I _catch _Mr. Potter," Snape countered. "Whether Mr. Malfoy has ever attacked you is immaterial. I didn't see him attacking you. I DID see you attacking him, emerging from ambush behind an invisibility cloak to hex him when surprised and unarmed! Those are not actions worthy of the 'Chosen One.' Surely even you can see that!"

Harry gave him a look of bitter resentment and returned to scratching his quill furiously on the cards. Snape ground his teeth at such unrepentant defiance. What was the matter with the boy? Why the continual, stubborn pigheadedness? Yes, Severus had treated him harshly, but he had treated other students just as bad, and some far worse. Why was it Potter who boiled with hatred to the point where it impaired his judgment?

Hermione had once told him Harry suffered from self pity. He felt sorry for himself because of all he had endured, and he resented those who didn't pity him back, or who he felt wronged him. He was the Boy-who-lived after all. He had been orphaned, misunderstood, and constantly in danger of his life. But Snape couldn't help curling his lip. If there was anything he had no patience with it was self pity. Such thinking made a person weak.

Potter had come to school with a chip on his shoulder-- an abused hero who needed a break. The child had had no idea how hard things were going to be for him, and how totally unprepared he was. Like Malfoy, he needed the strength and discipline that he _wouldn't_ get from coddling. Snape regarded his student with a jaundiced expression. Few of the staff had seemed willing to provide that boy with discipline. Dumbledore, Fudge, and all the other well-meaning panderers had created a monster.

The Wizarding World hadn't done Harry any favors. They had abandoned him as a baby only to hail him as a hero when he entered school. How could that _not_ go to a student's head? Severus had been one of those who had _always_ known Harry's ultimate destiny was to fight the Dark lord, and he had not believed in preferential treatment. He had been furious when Dumbledore let Harry be indulged on one hand and thrown to the lions on the other. Such treatment hadn't been a kindness.

Harry Potter _had _been special, but only because of what happened TO him. Even his enhanced abilities were from the Dark lord's unwitting connection. Harry was special because his mother had died to keep him alive, and because the Dark lord had happened to choose him. No one would wish to be special for that, and Dumbledore had known it. The whole staff had known it, yet instead of treating him _exactly the same _as the other students, they had fawned over him and singled him out.

From the very beginning he had been allowed special privileges. They had bought him a broom so he could play Quiddich in his first year. They had handed him his father's invisibility cloak-- knowing naturally that he would use it! When he and his friends had meddled about with that stupid Sorcerer's Stone, something completely protected (Dumbledore's Mirror of Erised was foolproof,) instead of receiving at least a reprimand, they were awarded enough points to win Gryffindor the Cup! Of course after that, Potter felt he had Carte Blanche to do whatever he wanted.

His successive infractions were legion: returning to school in a flying car, tossing a firecracker in a boiling cauldron (somebody might have been killed,) brewing Polyjuice Potion in secret and _drinking it... _Snape paused here to remember that his wife had been responsible for that, no doubt goaded into it by Potter. _And look what had happened to her! _His pride in her was tempered by outrage at how badly she had endangered herself. She might have remained a cat for life! It was providential that she had been safely petrified when Harry and his sidekick had been storming the Chamber of Secrets...

Every year saw Potter grow bolder. Snape _knew _the boy was sneaking out of the castle but no one would listen to him. He was sure Dumbledore had known it too, but nothing was ever done to stop it. That child had been allowed freedoms no schoolboy should have had, and he had been allowed to drag his friends into danger with him. It was as though certain members of the staff had _wanted _to recreate James Potter's marauding little gang. No one had been able to stop them either.

From third year on, Potter began to resemble his father. There was a _smugness _in his bearing, an "I know something you don't know" in his face. And why not? He could do things no other student could do. He had a map showing him secret ways out of the castle and an invisibility cloak to hide him! He did incredibly foolish things. Starting the Defense Club was bad enough, but dragging innocent students along to storm the Ministry had been selfishly assinine. If he, Severus Snape, hadn't gone for help, they would have all been killed. And Harry blamed _him _for all the wrongs in his life!

In the end, Harry had only beaten the Dark lord with the help of others. He couldn't have done it without The Order; he couldn't have done it without his friends... and he couldn't have done it without Snape, his expertise fighting the dark arts, and the inside information he provided. But Harry had never forgiven him for that. He still wanted to see Snape as the enemy, to hate him, to blame him for everyone who had died... _Well go ahead. I'm used to it! Stubborn_ _little brat..._

"You may leave, Mr. Potter, and I will see you next week at the same time. Perhaps you can spend the ensuing days _thinking _about right and wrong, the difference between self control and self indulgence, strength and weakness. Students can't be allowed to create anarchy by settling personal scores whenever they wish."

Harry got up hastily and prepared to go. His hard, set eyes flashed accusingly at Snape. Severus just couldn't let it go.

"_Manners_ Mr. Potter! When a teacher dismisses you, what do you say?"

"Yes sir." The words were mumbled through clenched teeth.

"What was that?"

"YES SIR!" This time it was shouted. Potter hurried to the door and then paused. "Just because my father bullied you in school doesn't mean you have to do the same to his son! You can't punish him because he's _dead_, and you already had something to do with that! Maybe YOU should think about right and wrong, and self control versus self indulgence."

Severus felt his face grow hot, and his hands begin to twitch. "Maybe we should add another week of detentions Mr. Potter, and deduct another twenty points from Gryffindor..."

"Yeah, whatever... _Sir._

Potter ducked out of the office, leaving Snape clenching his fists in impotent frustration.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Hey 'Mione wait up. Where are you going?" Ron's appearance was unexpected. He seemed a little out of breath, as if he had been running or climbing steps. Perhaps he had been looking for her.

"To the Library, I guess." Ron's face fell. To him a library was a place of torture, not delight. "Where's Harry?" she asked.

"In detention," Ron said scornfully. "Snape caught him jumping Malfoy in the halls and gave him a _week _of detentions. _Saturday detentions! _The greasy old git..."

Hermione looked up in surprise. Harry hadn't told her. "Why that's awful! And _stupid_. Why did he attack Malfoy? There was no reason for it!"

"WHY?" Ron sounded belligerent. "Because Malfoy's a git! You heard what he said to you the other day, the things he called you. He threatened all of us. He needs to be taught a lesson!"

"But Ron, that was only _words_. Just words! It's not worth fighting over. You know Malfoy's mostly bluster!"

"Yeah? Well he's done some underhanded attacks in the past. Maybe Harry wanted to make sure he thought twice before trying something."

She sighed in exasperation. "That's called a pre-emptive strike, Ron, and it usually leads to war. Haven't we had enough war? Harry should have left Draco alone. He should have ignored him."

Ron smile sideways at her. "It's a guy thing, Hermione. I knew you wouldn't understand. You've always been the cautious one, telling us not to get into trouble. I guess that's the girl thing."

"Well if you or Harry had listened to me more often, we'd have gotten into a lot less trouble!" she countered judiciously.

"Maybe. But we'd have had a lot less fun too. But wait, Hermione. Don't go to the library." His eyes shifted nervously around the noisy hall. "Let's go somewhere just us. I want to talk to you. Private like."

Hermione felt a shiver of excitement under a thick pall of foreboding. She had a sense that she shouldn't do this, that what he would tell her would probably hurt. She _should_ keep heading for the library. He would tell her he was seeing someone and want her blessing. Perhaps he was in love. She didn't want to hear that. He would tell her he was sorry...

Ron beckoned insistently and she allowed herself to follow him to an unused classroom on the fourth floor. He shut the door behind them, and when he turned around, his fresh, handsome face was flushed with red to the point where even his ears glowed. Hermione's foreboding hardened into dread.

"Listen 'Mione," he began. He looked anxious, strained. "You know I've always liked you."

"Well, of course, Ron," she interrupted carefully. "We've been friends since first year."

"Yeah, but not just like that. I...I care about you. I really do. You're... really special to me..."

Ron's voice had caught a little as he spoke and his eyes looked shyly ardent. Hermione realized, with shock, that Ron wasn't telling her what she thought he would. She was conscious of a tragic and frustrating sense of horror, tragic because barely six months ago she would not have felt horror, but wild delight. Now, of course, it was too late. _Why is he doing this? What is the good of it now? _

"Ron don't..." she began, backing away from him.

The words came in a rush. "I care about you! I _love _you, and I know that you love me! If it weren't for that stupid Marriage Law, we would have been together. It would have been you and me. We would have been... you know..." Innocent bashfulness kept him from saying the words "lovers."

Hermione's eyes stung. "Possibly," she said softly. "Probably. But why talk about it now? It's too late now." And it hurt like hell to have to say it. To make it final.

"It _shouldn't _be too late! We love each other! The Marriage Law is a travesty! It's WRONG! They have no right to make people get married if they don't want to, to people they _don't _want to. They have no right to keep us apart!"

"It _is _a bad law," she agreed sadly. "Nobody really likes it. And it's caused misery and death already--"

Ron suddenly grabbed her hands, pulling her towards him in an almost feverish sort of way. The hard crush of his fingers hurt. "Look 'Mione, let's just forget the Ministry! Their stupid Law is all _shite _as far as I'm concerned! Let's pretend it doesn't exist. Who are THEY to tell us what we can or can't do, or who we can love or can't love?"

Hermione drew her hands away from him and backed away again. She felt physically sick and a little dazed. This conversation couldn't really be happening! "What are you saying Ron?" she practically whispered. "Are you suggesting that we should be lovers?"

His fair, freckled face grew even redder. "Well, why not!" he said belligerently. "Government has no right to but into people's personal lives! Why _shouldn't _we see each other if we want to? We should do whatever we like and to hell with them all!"

"We can't Ron," she answered with deadpan gentleness. "It's wrong."

"What do you mean wrong? We love each other!"

"I'm _married._"

"Not in a real marriage. It's a _forced _marriage. It might as well be rape! You can't tell me you're going to let it stand in the way of US?"

"I took vows Ron." Her voice shook. "I made a promise."

"To _Snape? _So what? You can't have any feelings for that ugly, old git! You only married him because you had to." His dripping scorn bothered her.

"That doesn't really make a difference."

"And he doesn't love _you_! He's only using you for sex!"

"That doesn't make a difference either." She tried hard to keep her voice steady.

"_I don't understand!_" Ron shouted. "WHY doesn't it make a difference? Why shouldn't it matter?"

"Because I made a _promise_! I made a vow to be faithful to him for as long as we are married! I can't break that promise even if I wanted to! It would be morally WRONG!"

"You can't tell me he's faithful to YOU!" Ron countered sneeringly.

"Actually, I think he is," Hermione said in a very tiny voice. "He's very serious about promises, and obligations... and... things like that." She didn't want to think what Severus would do if he knew this conversation was taking place...

Ron shrugged angrily. "Well who cares? He thinks he's so much better than everyone..." He paused and then glared at her accusingly. "What do you mean _even if I wanted to? _Don't you want to? Don't tell me you CARE about that evil, _ugly_, greasy old bastard?" The contempt in Ron's voice could have blistered concrete, and Hermione felt more than a little affronted. Severus was her husband. He deserved better than this. He at least deserved respect.

"There's no need to insult him!" Hermione answered angrily. Then she continued in a low, level voice, "I _don't_ want to cheat on him, Ron. He IS my husband! I just couldn't do that to him. It would be unfair as well as wrong." _Callous and unfeeling too..._

"I thought you loved me Hermione," he said bitterly. "I thought you felt the same way I did."

She reached out to him to take his hands but he flinched away from her. "Look Ron, _please. _If it weren't for this Marriage Law it _would _have been you and me. It really would have. But things didn't work out that way. Things happened that none of us could help, and now it's too late. I'm sorry Ron, but I can't do what you want me to."

Ron looked at the floor. "What about after the Marriage Law? What about after it's repealed?"

She looked up confused. "I...I have no idea. I mean, what can I say? I don't know when that will be."

"I'll wait for you if you'll promise me." his voice was low and tense. "If you promise that you'll be mine."

Hermione sputtered in wretched outrage. "But I can't do that either Ron! I can't make a promise to one man while I'm married to another! That's wrong too!"

"You can at least give me some hope! That's all I ask!" The eyes that met hers were stricken. He looked young and bewildered, miserably headstrong and confused. "You have to tell me what to _do _Hermione! I have to do something. I have to KNOW! It's tearing me up! Either I wait for you, or I don't wait for you. Either I move on, or I don't. I have to know _soon!_"

Her throat hurt so badly she almost couldn't speak. "I can't tell you to wait for me. How can I ask you to put your life on hold like that? It wouldn't be fair to you."

"But I'd do it. All you have to do is say so."

"I can't Ron. I don't know when the law will be repealed. What if it's _never _be repealed? Then you'd be tied to a promise you wouldn't be able to keep. That wouldn't be right. And if, as a married woman, I asked you to do that it would be as bad as breaking my own vows."

There was silence for a moment.

"So that's it then," he said quietly. He sounded tired and sad, and strangely, he also sounded a little relieved. She had told him what to do. He didn't have to make a decision any more.

"I guess it is."

Guilt and loss were warring in his eyes. He looked like a man faced with shooting a pet, and Hermione wondered why she should think of that analogy. "Just remember I came to you first Hermione. Just remember you were my first love. Goodbye 'Mione."

"Goodbye Ron," She whispered sadly.

He turned and quickly left the room, and Hermione sat down in one of the empty classroom chairs and cried.


	22. The Painful Aftermath

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 22: _And the Painful Aftermath _**

Snape scowled furiously as Potter left, at the obstinate brat sulking in righteous self pity. Severus wanted to hex him. _He_ had never been allowed the luxury of self pity, and his life had been far worse. The boy had no idea how lucky he was. Even at his worst moments, Potter had always been blessed with help. He had led a charmed life, but instead of thanking fate, or _God _(if one believed in Him,) all he did was complain. It was enough to make anyone sick.

Snape had learned early that there was nothing he could do about the misery in his life. Circumstances had taught him that things were unfair and that crying over it was useless. In an unfair world one did what one had to-- hung on tenaciously, bent when necessary, hid if possible, and endured pain in silence. Survival didn't leave time for the weakness of self pity. Only the strong survived, and later conquered...

Harry hadn't been ready to conquer when he entered Hogwarts. He had shown no academic drive to succeed, only to fit in and be liked. He was lazy. He only learned when he had to, preferring to coast through his classes on minimal effort. No though went into his homework. He did his assignments simply to get them done, and his potion essays had been a joke. In other students this might not have seemed so bad. After all, he was used to dunderheads.

But this was Harry Potter, "the Chosen One," the eventual hope of the Wizarding World. He'd _need_ to show more promise than this! The boy had lived because of another's sacrifice, not because of his own merit. But warriors are made, not born-- swords forged in fire. To win his battle he would need strength, strength acquired by discipline. He _couldn't_ be cut any slack. The Dark lord was incredibly powerful. Only one trained in the forge of adversity could hope to defeat him.

Potter hadknown adversity in his Muggle home, but it had only seemed to give him _attitude_ not discipline. Dumbledore had known this but seemed far more concerned that Potter be _happy_. He didn't want the boy to have to face his future until unavoidable. Severus had counseled strenuously for a more rigorous approach, but Dumbledore didn't want to over-burden Harry. He refused Snape's every suggestion for tougher measures and wouldn't even let him teach Defense. But of course the boy ended up believing he could teach _himself_-- a perfect example of the folly of pity!

One of the Snape's hardest tasks had been the attempt to teach Potter Occlumency. For a half a year he had endured the boy's poisonous hatred in his mind, only to get nowhere for all his pains. He had only agreed to do it if he had a Pensieve since he had memories that just HAD to stay private-- for Potter's protection as well as his own. The horrors in his past were things no student should see. He also didn't want the boy to witness James torturing him. Naturally, that insufferable brat had seen it anyway...

Looking into Harry's mind, Snape had seen the cold environment of an unhappy childhood, but it hadn't aroused his pity. Compared to the Snape home, it had almost looked like paradise. Potter hadn't been loved, but he hadn't been tortured either. He had been clothed with cast-offs, fed scanty food, and forced to sleep in a cupboard, but he had never been in mortal peril. He had never known the desperate, crushing, everyday strain of fighting for survival. And he hadn't known the guilt of it either...

The memories made Severus wince. What if the boy had been raised a Snape? Few of the Snape children had survived to adulthood. They weren't expected to. Right to life had been based on worth, and worth had to be continually proved. Survival depended on magical power, strength and endurance, unquestioning obedience, and academic excellence. Children were expected to perform, and on any day life or limb could depend on a correct answer. One encounter sprang to his mind. The only people worse than his father had been his aunts...

_"Ahh... Lara, what have we here? It's Lucy's brat, isn't it? Come here, boy!" _

_Severus, the child, had approached falteringly. His mother was dead now. She_

_couldn't protect him anymore. There was no one to protect him now._

_"Humph! He's grown a bit but I can't say much else for him. Such an ugly child, and_

_with a nasty, sour expression too! Just like Lucretia, not a bit of charm. Is there any_

_value in an ugly boy, Corry?"_

_"Nothing ugly has any value, Lara. But he does have such remarkable black eyes..."_

_Aunt Corrinthia raised his chin to make him look at her. He did his best not to flinch._

_"What do you think, dear, which eyes taste better, black or blue?" Her sharp nails_

_bit painfully into his jaw._

_He mustn't cry, he thought. He absolutely mustn't! If he did, his aunt's fingernails_

_might tear his eyes right out of his head. He didn't know if they actually ate eyes, but_

_\he had long learned not to put ANYTHING past them._

_"I don't know, Corrie. Blue eyes taste sweet but there's just a hint of spice in the black_

_ones to make them a little more appealing..."_

_He didn't know how he accomplished it, but somehow, someway, he kept his eyes dry._

_"Tell me, boy! What type of eyes are used in the Night Vision potion?"_

_"A cat's eyes Aunt Corrinthia," he said stiffly, through fear-clenched teeth._

_"I didn't hear you!" The fingernails pinched a little harder._

_"A cat's eyes, Ma'am," he said louder._

_"And if we wanted a potion to make us see at long distances, what kind of eyes would_

_we put into it?"_

_"An eagle's eyes, Ma'am."_

_"And if we wanted to see through camouflage?"_

_"A rat's eyes, Ma'am."_

_"If we substituted human eyes, what would be the result?"_

_Severus had almost panicked. His tutor hadn't said anything about the use of human _

_eyes, but he knew he couldn't answer "I don't know." That might be fatal. He was _

_eight years old now. His older brother Justinian had died at eight, and Severus had a _

_younger brother, and perhaps another coming... Think! Think! He thought of all the _

_potions he knew that substituted human blood for animal blood and took a guess._

_"It'll make you see through lies."_

_"Well, well Lara." The voice sounded disappointed. "This one actually has a brain."_

_The fingernails let go of his chin, but no sooner had that happened then his aunt_

_slapped his face hard enough to make his teeth hurt._

_"That answer was only partially right, boy! In actuality, the drinker of that potion_

_can see changes in a victim's body heat and heart-rate, and thereby detect deceit._

_The next time I ask you a question, you will have the correct answer, the whole answer!_

_Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, Aunt Corrinthia."_

_It had been a very narrow miss._

Severus shuddered. He had survived many tests of quickness, reflexes, endurance, and memory. The adults in his life had seemed to want perfection, or perhaps only the pleasure of torturing children. Now the Snape legacy was almost completely eradicated. Of all his siblings, only Severus was left. He alone had escaped the darkness and destroyed it all behind him. How odd that the act of survival that had saved him was an act of weakness, of surrender. But that had taken strength too.

No, he couldn't pity Potter. The boy's weakness made him angry. The child was impulsive, emotional, petulant, and defiant, and he fought every effort to bring him to order. The only time Snape had come close to feeling a sort of sick compassion was seeing of the memory of Cedric Diggory, dead due to Harry's impulse to be fair. Potter's guilt had been so like his own-- guilt for having lived when others died, or guilt that his survival might have _caused_ those deaths... But it had only made him furious.

Survivor guilt was deadly. It sapped a person's strength of will, and was almost impossible to completely get rid of. In Potter it was a weapon for another to use, and Snape had worked hard to force the boy to overcome it. His repeated failure had been frustrating. Severus had felt only contempt for a student who refused to cooperate, and anger at himself for not being able to _make_ him. More infuriating still was the accusing bitterness in Potter's mind-- the expectation that Snape should pity him, and sour hatred because he did not. Snape's reaction had been scorn.

But Potter's words rang in his mind. _Just because my father bullied you in school doesn't mean you have to do the same to his son! You can't punish him because he's DEAD! Maybe you should think about right and wrong... _That was the worst of it. After all that boy had been through, after all he should have learned, he still thought it was all about _James. _He saw all Snape's actions as the petty behavior of a vengeful, pathetic loser taking his hatred out on a dead man's son. He couldn't see beyond that.

Snape tightened his lips Of course he had hated James. The memory of him was still poisonous. Potter had made his school life hell, branding him from the first as an outsider and a loser, and he had done it wantonly, from the sheer joy of being able to. He had ruined Snape's chance for a new start.

For Severus, Hogwarts had been the first glimpse that all wizard life wasn't the same as at home. There was a difference here that he could immediately see, and he could tell by the numbers of students who fit in that this difference was the _norm_, not the exception. It was a world Snape had wanted to join, but hadn't known how. He had sensed he was somehow broken, incomplete, and in need of repair or healing. But no one had stepped forward to show him the way. Instead he had dedicated enemies in James Potter and Sirius Black.

The two had taken an early dislike to him for using dark magic on the train. They had been teasing him, probably in fun, but Severus had reacted defensively. He couldn't help it. He was used to fending off attack, and dark magic had been natural at home. It was just a _little_ hex, weak because he was a child, but his attackers had been outraged. They jumped on him, knocked his wand aside, and proceeded to bloody his nose. There had been no contest. The two were bigger and soon had help... Now, years later, Snape still had a crooked nose, and he had never lived down the taunting name of "Snivelus."

After that Potter and Black were always against him. They had other victims too, but because Snape had used dark magic, and had shown no remorse or shame for doing so, they had considered him a special case. Looking back with the eyes of experience, Severus could see that he had probably appeared both cheeky and sinister. They couldn't have understood that he was doing the only thing he knew. They felt they needed to teach him a lesson, to punish the darkness out of him. But Snape received a totally different message. To him it was only more tyranny-- tyranny of the light..

He had looked forward to going away to school. The fact that the Snape children were sent to separate schools to foster distrust and rivalry was actually a blessing. And he had been very glad to go to Hogwarts instead of one of the dark academies. At Hogwarts Snape saw that a better life, a kinder life, was possible, but it was discouraging to find that even here it was denied him. Still, his early training had made him tough. He could endure whatever was dished out and give back in equal measure. He could defy his attackers, never bowing, and never giving in. And he could learn and excel in spite of what he came to recognize as injustice.

Injustice had been a foreign word to Snape when he entered Hogwarts since it wasn't taught in his Darwinian home. But the seeds of right and wrong had been planted early in his heart. His mother had loved him and had resisted the dark, and he had always known that there was something _wrong _with the way life was, even if he couldn't do anything about it. Severus had done what he had to to survive, secretly yearning for something better. Hogwarts should have provided that "something better," but it had been crippled by an unfortunate double standard.

That double standard hurt him more than all the overt cruelty had. The system was faulty. Teachers spoke of fostering excellence and imparting truth, yet very little of that seemed to be going on. Discipline was incredibly lax, and the faculty often took a _Laize Faire _attitude toward the students and their progress. That, in itself, wouldn't have been a problem. Severus had long known that it was every man for himself and could find a way to prevail. But the headmaster, and the teachers claimed to CARE about all of them, and he saw that most of them seemed to believe that they did. Why didn't their actions follow their words?

The race here wasn't won by the swift. Competency wasn't always rewarded. Some students could get away with just about anything because they were _liked, _while other students had to be careful because they were not. The house rivalries were completely unequal, and to Severus they were ludicrous. Why group children according to bravery, brains, hard work, and ambition? Weren't ALL those qualities valuable? Where would bravery be without brains? Or ambition without a strong work ethic?

Severus had been placed in Slytherin, the least favored house of them all-- the one no one trusted. The entire school viewed Slytherins as losers or troublemakers. Dark magic was the ultimate anathema, and since Slytherins were all suspected of practicing it, they suffered discrimination accordingly. To Snape, raised in a nest of darkness, that was the worst form of hypocrisy.

Why was it, in a world supposedly so "good" and "light," that teachers favored some students over others, and looked away when those students picked on the unfavored? _Wasn't that dark?_ Why was it that handsome, athletic students were seen as "good" no matter what they did, while the awkward, shy, unattractive ones were not? Snape worked his tail off, followed every rule, and mastered all his subjects meticulously, but he received scant favor. Obviously evil took many forms...

Perhaps his fall had been inevitable. Even as a first year he had already been planning revenge upon his family, and after years of frustration that everything from his looks to his background should count against him, he began his descent to ruin. And why not? When those of the "light" acted no better than those of the "dark" and went virtually unpunished, why should it make a difference? And he knew no better way to inflict hurt than the type of power that had hurt him.

It was the ultimate in bitter irony that as Snape sunk further and further into darkness, his arch rival Potter seemed to change for the better. Because of the influence of Lilly Evans-- the sweet, pretty Muggleborn Potter loved, he became less arrogant and outwardly cruel. Snape himself had fancied Lilly in a shy, desperate sort of way. She had once stood up for him when no one else had, but he had never shown her any appreciation... He had watched the two of them miserably, hating Potter all the more for being the lucky boy who got everything whether he deserved it or not.

So in retribution he had taken the dark mark, impetuously resolving that if he couldn't win in the world of light, he'd do it the world of darkness. All he had wanted was to make everyone pay. If he couldn't be liked or loved, he'd be respected and feared. He had hated the whole world because he felt the whole world had wronged him. But of course he had been only seventeen-- hot headed and cocksure...

The face of James' son jumped back to his mind, followed by something Hermione had once said:

"_You know, Severus, you remind me an awful lot of Harry. You sound just like him!"_

Snape felt a shock of cold pass through him. Perhaps he really was like Harry Potter, or had been once... But he almost shook himself to banish the idea. How preposterous! Ludicrous! Potter wasn't like him, and he was nothing like Potter! _They had absolutely nothing in common! _

Except anger. Except bitterness. Except loss and adversity, and the feeling that life had wronged them... But _please!_ Potter was favored and pampered, famous and loved. He had been handed the good life while Snape had struggled... But was that really true? Harry didn't have to fight to survive at home, but he hadn't thrived either-- and he had struggled against the Dark lord in one form or another ever since. Even if Harry's hurt and bitterness sprang from a lesser source than his own, _how_ _could those dark feelings not still be the same? _And what about Snape's part, the things he had to answer for?

_That_ was something he didn't want to think about. He didn't want to remember the eavesdropping incident that led to the deaths of Lilly and James. Snape had been looking for a way to ingratiate himself with the Dark lord to implement his first plan of revenge-- revenge against his _father, _not Potter. He needed the Dark lord's trust so that when he presented false evidence that Septimus Snape was a traitor, he would be believed... That garbled, twisted prophesy had been his first chance. And it had worked.

He had been riding high with triumph when he had discovered that Voldemort's next targets, from HIS evidence, were the Potters-- and not even they themselves, but their _baby... _Snape hadn't been a deatheater for long, and he hadn't yet been ordered to do much killing. The few times he had used the death curse had been to execute traitors. Those traitors had been adults. His father had been one of them.

The thought of killing children had horrified him. _It still did! _He had seen too many children killed callously in his father's house, not to find the idea of murdering a baby intolerable. And the fact that it was _Lilly's _baby... Lilly who had been kind to him, and who he never treated kindly in return... Snape could still remember his mother's anguish at the loss of his brother, and the malaise of grief that had led to her death. Because of him, that would happen to Lilly.

What had once seemed the smartest thing to do, he now saw as the STUPIDEST thing he had ever done. HOW could he have imagined that the _Dark lord _would be an improvement on his father? Had he been insane? Hadn't his mother caution him on her deathbed, _"Stay alive, Severus. Stay alive, but don't be like them! Don't let them make you be like them!" _Why hadn't he listened? Now he was a child killer--just like them. Septimus was dead, but his son had taken his place...

That was when he had crawled to Dumbledore, convinced it would mean his death, but determined to die rather than imagine a dead baby and Lilly's anguished screams. But for some reason, one that he still found amazing, the reward had been forgiveness instead of punishment. He had been given a chance for redemption. He would have to be a spy-- a dangerous thing, but Snape was still young and impetuous. And he was furious at the Dark lord for wooing him into hell, and himself for willingly going.

But he hadn't saved Lilly. She died pleading for her son's life anyway, no matter how much Snape had tried to stop it. And all because her _arrogant _IDIOT of a husband had thought to entrust the secret to their whereabouts to the weakest, most easily bullied person imaginable-- Pettigrew. Of course at the time, Snape had thought they had been betrayed by Black-- someone who he _knew _was capable of murder... James' stupidity had killed himself and his wife, and had left his son an orphan.

Because the Potter baby had lived... Dumbledore had explained to Severus how Lilly's sacrifice had saved her son. As neither Snape, nor Dumbledore, believed the Dark lord really was really destroyed, they _knew _that he would be back again, and that he would come back to finish the murder of Harry Potter. It was all important that Harry survive. He had to be kept safe.

So that was Snape's next task, and he had _tried _to do it! He had tried to make Harry strong to be able to win his eventual fight. And he had tried to protect him from idiots like Quirrell. But the brat was magical cannon fodder-- knowing NOTHING of what it was like to face dark magic, yet resisting correction with the arrogance of his father-- the father who had compromised his innocent life by his stupid decisions! Snape had tried to punish that arrogance out of him, to make the boy as tough as _he_ was...

And it was worse that the boy had his mother's eyes, eyes that that accused him every time they looked at him. It was Snape's fault Harry's mother was dead, and every time Severus saw the boy his blood seemed to boil with resentment. _He had tried! He had done everything he could to fix his mistake! _If James hadn't treated him like dung, if Potter had LISTENED when Severus had warned him, he, Snape, wouldn't be saddled with protecting a whinny, petulant brat that he hated the sight of!

Severus put his head in his hands. Yes, he hated the sight of the child. He always had. All he could see when he looked at him was James Potter's arrogance... and his own failure, and it had bled through everything he had done for the boy and colored all he had said to him. His hatred had taken good intentions and twisted all the good out of them. Then when the child had reacted negatively, he had tried to crush and break him as if it were James instead of his son, and he had justified it as being good...

The knowledge that he had been wrong, _that he was no better than James, _was bitter in his mind. He had tried to help Harry Potter, but he had hurt him as well. He had tried to make the boy able to survive, but he had truly enjoyed treating him badly. Perhaps he really was just as petty, vindictive, and unfair as the boy had accused him of being. Perhaps he had been too harsh in his approach to the boy's survival training. But harshness was all he knew. It was the way he had learned-- _the reason he_ _was alive... _

"Lilly forgive me," he whispered hollowly. "I did the only thing I knew how to do! I didn't know anything else. How could I have done different?"

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Hermione cried in the empty classroom for almost an hour. She felt worse than if someone had died. It was as if someone she loved, who had died long ago, had actually come back-- only to have to kill them again. And it didn't make her grief any less that the beloved dead wasn't a person, but an idea-- a hope. The loss of a hope seemed worse. Now she knew for certain that what she had wanted would forever be out of her reach-- out of her reach because she _pushed_ it away... because she had to.

She _couldn't _have an affair-- not with Ron or anyone else! She wasn't that sort of person. Even setting aside the fact that her husband's reaction would be frightening, she just couldn't DO that. How would her life _be_ after such a thing? How could she live with herself, look at herself in the mirror each morning? There would be a massive stain upon her, a taint that would color all she did. She wouldn't be herself anymore.

_How could Ron have asked this? _Didn't he KNOW her by now? He had to know she was moral, that she didn't break rules. He must realize she didn't lie or cheat, that she wasn't cruel or disrespectful. Ron's assumption that she _would_ sleep with him shocked her. Their once innocent friendship now seemed sullied. Ron was probably just overwrought, or confused with teenage hormones, but his proposition had hurt and insulted her. Now things would never be the same.

Oh why was her life so tragic? Why did she always miss out? _Always_ she was an outsider-- never fitting in! Nothing she did was good enough, and any time it looked like this would change, _something happened to wreck it all up!_ She couldn't please her parents because of her magic. The Wizard World rejected her because of her Muggle parents. Regular students only saw her as a geek. Now her parents were gone, and a law had been passed. She was married to a man twenty years her senior who didn't love her-- and because of that, no one else could love her either. _Life just wasn't fair!_

She put her head in her hands to sob again, and when she later tried to wipe her face, she found her handkerchief uselessly soaked. She flung it to the floor. _Men! Always more trouble than they were worth! Always wrecked things up! _MEN had created this Marriage Law, and women just had to cope with it. Until today she had been coping rather well. She had been almost comfortable with her life, but now Ron had to mess it all up by declaring love when she was forbidden to love him back! She could just punch him! How childish, how selfish, how completely and utterly boorish...

Hermione was suddenly angry as well as disillusioned. Did Ron actually love her as he said, or was he mucking about like an adolescent puppy, only wanting to explore sex? He was acting like a _boy_, not like a man. A man would have had more honor. Had they both been free and unmarried, they could have innocently learned love together, but they were obviously NOT both free. It was childishly hurtful of him to proposition her now that she was married. That hurtfulness disappointed her.

It was a few moments before she realized that turning Ron down hadn't really been hard to do... Since she had wanted him for a long time, it _should_ have been harder. There should have been frustration and painfully unsatisfied desire, but it hadn't been that way at all. She had only felt sickened by the wrongness of it-- angry that the opportunity to be loved had come too late. She had been uncomfortable at the suggestion of immorality, and guilty for having to hurt him. But she hadn't been actually tempted. Had she ever she really loved Ron? _Did she know what love was anymore?_ Perhaps she didn't.

Marriage to Snape appeared to have altered her life so much that she didn't think or feel the same. Perhaps one couldn't live with a person day after day and not be changed by it. One couldn't repeatedly sleep with a man (and like it) without caring about him at least a little. Hermione couldn't help but care a little about Severus, care about him in confused, painful sort of way. At times he was still a stranger-- a completely foreign entity that she would never understand. But at other times she felt him as a friend.

Hermione had grown surprisingly _comfortable_ with him. She knew his body of course-- the dimensions of his flesh, the movement of his hands, the taste of his sweat. But she was familiar also with his habits, his mannerisms: what he ate, what he read, the nuances of his voice. She knew the sort of everyday innocent things that change a lover to a spouse-- where he put his shoes, what his underwear looked like, and the way his hair smelled after a shower. She knew that sharing one's life with someone meant losing some of your own and gaining some of his. It was a different type of innocence lost.

And that was something Ron Weasley couldn't yet understand. He wasn't married. He only saw Snape as his hated teacher. He just couldn't understand how the man's life had become so intertwined with hers, so completely enmeshed that it was difficult to do anything without somehow considering him. Ron was a free agent, while Hermione was part of an "US." She couldn't trespass on that other part of her "us" to make another "we" with a different "I." But that was all a foreign language to Ron.

Hermione sighed. It was crushing to see a dream come too late, like a toy dangled before her face and snatched away. It was disappointing even thought she knew life with Snape wasn't that bad. Hovering in the back of her mind, like a nagging, teasing shadow, was a traitorous idea that it was actually better this way. She had thought she was in love with Ron, but had she been? Had she really wanted _him_, or had she only wanted to be wanted? And did she know the real Ron? He had shown an ugly side today, a callous, cruel, selfish side. _But hadn't she always known that side was there?_

The way Ron had sneered at Severus had really bothered her. It disturbed her that someone she cared about could be so petty and cruel. But it bothered her in another way. When Ron had called her husband "ugly" or a "greasy git," she had felt as sick and angry as if she were being insulted herself. She had been furious at his invitation to have an affair, not only because it was immoral, but because it would hurt Severus. It would wrong him, and she didn't want to do that. To hurt him would be to hurt herself. How had this come about?

She hadn't wanted to marry Snape but, unexpectedly, it hadn't turned out so very badly. The two of them weren't really ill suited. He didn't demand her attention or expect her to be something she wasn't. They both liked to read and they respected each other's silences. Their silences often seemed complimentary, and it wasn't that bad living with a man who let her read in peace. Having sex with him was no hardship either...

"_But he doesn't love you Hermione! He's only using you for sex!"_ Ron's remembered words stung, and more tears threatened. She didn't know why that should hurt so much but it did. Of course Severus didn't love her. She didn't love him either. Why should it bother her that he only wanted her body? Hadn't that been the deal-- sex for an education? At least she enjoyed it. Things could be much worse.

A miasma of despair settled over her. There should be something more in a marriage. There should be a connection in the _hearts _of people intimate in body. Good sex was certainly nothing to complain about, but there was often so much loneliness amid the pleasure. It hurt to know that if it weren't for the Marriage Law she might have known a physical union in love. Now she might never know it.

It could never, _ever,_ happen with Ron now-- even if the law were suddenly repealed. She had been hopelessly spoiled. As things now stood, she wouldn't really _want _to endure the awkwardness of novice hands after Snape's practiced touch. If she and Ron had both been innocent it would have probably been fine. But if she were set free now she would always find Ron wanting. He was better off without her. Perhaps it was best to enjoy whatever she could because it was all she would ever have... Life had never seemed so unfair.

Hermione wiped her face and prepared to leave, peering cautiously out into the corridor to make sure it was empty. She didn't want anyone to see her in her miserable state, and she was in no mood to answer awkward questions. Seeing the pity in prying eyes would be intolerable. The library, her original destination, was the place she belonged. Books, after all, were her friends. They neither loved, hated, or made unreasonable demands, and they had always been her trusted companions in times of rejection and sorrow. She wished she could hide among them forever.


	23. Gryffindor Courage

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 23: _Gryffindor Courage _**

After hours of safe, non-confrontational reading, Hermione finally ventured out of the library. She didn't want to have to leave her chosen sanctuary, but she was hungry. And if she missed dinner as well as lunch, Severus might notice and ask for an explanation... Besides, she'd have to go to meals eventually. The longer she put it off, the harder it would be.

And really, what was the risk? Her face wasn't puffy from crying anymore, and she doubted anyone would even notice that something was wrong with her. Hermione Granger Snape wasn't the type who gathered notice. She had never been outgoing, pretty, or popular like Lavender or Parvati. No one paid much attention to geeks-- until, of course, someone wanted help with their homework.

Only her friends had ever paid attention to her and even they weren't likely to see she was troubled. They would only think she was tired from too much studying. And she was willing to bet her whole Gringots vault of gold that Ron hadn't told anybody about what had happened between them. Rejected paramours didn't advertise their failures, so one would know. She could pretend it had never happened.

But how could she? A fatal line had been crossed in their friendship. How could she pretend that nothing was wrong? _She'd never be able to do that!_ She wasn't good at pretending and something was bound to show. Hermione almost ran back to Snape's suite out of sheer overwhelming panic. Only the knowledge that running away would make it worse caused her to turn around and head resolutely back to dinner. As it turned out, she didn't have to say anything to Ron at all.

Approaching the Hall, she saw Harry, Ron, and a knot of friends enter the corridor ahead of her. Out of habit, Hermione quickened her pace to join them, but then something made her stop suddenly in mid-corridor. She stopped so abruptly that a couple of students bumped into her. For a minute, Hermione couldn't move. Up ahead, Harry was hand-in-hand with Ginny, and Ron... was holding hands with Luna.

It was as though she had been slapped. Hermione's face grew hot and beads of sweat pricked coldly all over her. _So Ron hadn't wasted any time! _After that impassioned speech about waiting for her forever, he had moved on in mere hours! That meant he hadn't really loved her. She remembered the look of relief in his eyes, the guilty sadness. Perhaps this was the way he had wanted it all along! Perhaps he had only felt pity, or compulsion, or...

Professor McGonagall's warm hand fell gently on her shoulder. "You did know he couldn't wait forever, dear. You must have realized it was time for him to move on." Her teacher's no-nonsense voice was sadly kind, and Hermione turned her stricken face away.

"Best to brace up then and let him go easily. I never did think the two of you were a good match. All that Quiddich talk would have driven you silly eventually. Think about it and you'll know I'm right. Now show the courage of a lioness and do Gryffindor proud. It's all for the best, you know."

Hermione sadly squared her shoulders. McGonagall was right. She had to move on. After all, she had already told Ron the same thing-- except that, then, _she_ had been doing the rejecting. Now she was the rejected, the forgotten, the one on the sidelines missing out. But she had to keep her pride. What else did she have left? She took a deep breath, swallowed her feelings of betrayal, and marched on.

Her friends' reaction at her arrival was strangely mixed. Harry looked awkward, and Ginny watched Hermione and Ron anxiously as if expecting an explosion any minute. Hovering on the outskirts, Lavender and Parvati were avid with morbid interest, and Neville seemed poised to intervene, his round face earnest with compassion. Ron didn't meet her eyes at all.

Surprisingly, the person who held them all together was Luna. She showed no indication that anything was amiss. Luna was completely unaffected, and she glowed with so much happiness that her skin seemed actually radiant. She accepted Hermione's presence naturally-- without triumph, apology, or awkwardness. Hermione had never seen anyone so happy, and she couldn't help but feel glad for her. It was good to see _someone _find happiness... even if it wasn't her.

Luna's serene goodwill diffused the tension. Harry, Neville and Ginny visibly relaxed, and Lavender and Pavarti lost interest. Hermione found that it didn't matter that Ron wouldn't talk to her because Luna did, and later even he joined in to where things appeared deceptively normal. Almost. Everything looked almost the same between them all-- except that it wasn't. Events had polarized them, and where once there had been a group of friends there were now groups within a group. The dynamics had changed forever.

Hermione knew this was the beginning of the end, and that the old days of their threesome were over. She was now a lone member in a group of couples, and where she had once been an equal, even a leader, she had become much less important. Somehow she had blinked and life had changed. Now she could never mix with her friends in the same way. Severus could certainly never be part of this group.

Conversation was slightly stilted. Hermione asked Harry about his attack on Malfoy, but all he wanted to talk about was his detention. He spoke passionately about the unfairness of it all and the monstrous evil that was Severus Snape, and again, Hermione felt a wave of impatience. She was tired of hearing her husband abused. It was childish as well as nasty. She feared Harry's reaction if she tried to rebuke him, but she was spared from having to do so because Luna did it for her.

"That's _Professor _Snape, Harry," Luna put in gently. "And you really shouldn't say such mean things about Hermione's husband. It isn't nice, you know."

Luna spoke without the slightest trace of condescension. She didn't seem to know that her boyfriend had once loved Hermione, or that residual feelings might still exist between them. She appeared to believe that everything was exactly the way it should be, and that even Hermione's marriage to Snape was natural. Other girls in her place would have been snide, but Luna was effortlessly kind.

Her serenity had an odd calming effect on them. Harry stared dumbstruck at Luna for a moment. Had Hermione jumped to Snape's defense, Harry would have been furious, but he didn't seem to know how to answer back to Luna. Her gentle, sure manner-- so different from Hermione's bossy one-- seemed to discourage anger. Again, she had averted trouble, and Hermione couldn't help marveling in spite of it all.

Ginny turned the conversation to Quiddich and Hermione glanced around in boredom. It amazed her how people could talk sports constantly and still have more to say about it. Harry, Ron, and Ginny seemed to be cut from the same cloth and, surprisingly, so was Luna. Luna had never seemed _that _interested in Quiddich, but she appeared to thoroughly understand the sport. She fit in as Hermione never had, and she had also seemed to have taken Hermione's old role of interested listener.

_How could it be that in one moment, everything had changed? _How could she be important and belong one day but not the next? Her friends still liked and included her, and perhaps they even loved her, but Hermione sensed that they were leaving her behind. Soon more changes would take them even further away... It was like losing her family all over again. Her whole body felt empty and drained.

She glanced at the Head Table, at Snape, and for a second she felt a tug of belonging-- as if she had more in common with this remote, taciturn man than with her beloved friends. The thought was bizarre, but it wasn't actually new. There were times when she felt a bond with him as though they were linked with invisible chains. She didn't understand how she could feel two conflicting ways, how there could be this odd connection as if she was part of him, and yet know he was alien beyond words...

Suddenly, she remembered something she had overheard her mother say about marriage:

_"There's a spiritual dimension to marriage-- that 'two being one' thing. I can understand_

_why some religions call it a sacrament. You get a tiny glimpse of how God loves us while _

_we don't deserve it. I mean, how else can anyone learn that you can love someone-- to _

_where they seem like your own right arm-- when so many times you don't actually LIKE them?_

Hermione stiffened. _Where had THAT memory come from? _She didn't love Severus. She had married him out of necessity. She didn't want to love him either... he wasn't a lovable person! And he certainly didn't love her. This feeling of identity, of responsibility and connectedness... it couldn't be love. She wouldn't let it be! It was friendship, that was all-- or a trick of the imagination.

She looked back and Luna smiled at her. It was a warm, kind, inclusive smile, as though Hermione could sprout antennae or spit fire and she would still accept her without a note of complaint or criticism. Hermione felt oddly good even though she knew she should resent Luna for being loved when she wasn't, for getting the man that she herself thought she had wanted. But it was somehow impossible to do that-- to feel badly about someone who genuinely _liked_ her.

And the interplay between Ron and Luna made her wonder if Professor McGonagall wasn't right. Luna appeared to be the perfect compliment for Ron. She never seemed to notice his boorishness or be offended by his thoughtlessness. She ignored the petty cruelties that had always bothered Hermione, and never expected him to be better than he was. Ron and Hermione had bickered constantly. She had always been trying unsuccessfully to change him. Now it seemed that Luna's approach was far more effective. Ron seemed oddly malleable under her serene, accepting manner.

Had Hermione any tears left she would have shed them now. Obviously the Marriage Law had done Ron a favor. And even though it followed that if she was wrong for him, _he _had to be wrong for her, it was hard to feel fortunate. Hermione just felt unloved. An odd psychic tickle warned she was being watched and she caught the glint of black eyes looking her way. She sincerely hoped her misery didn't show. She didn't want her husband's pity..._ or lack of it. _Severus Snape would never understand.

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Severus watched Hermione at the Gryffindor table. If only she wasn't so connected with Potter! He couldn't _wait_ for the year to end so the boy would leave and stop reminding Snape of his guilt and failure. Of course, Hermione would insist upon seeing Harry socially, but she could do that on her own. Still, because of her he knew he'd never be able to avoid Potter completely. Oh why did he have to fall so desperately in love with one of Potter's best friends?

It was almost history repeating itself, except that he hadn't loved Lilly, merely fancied her. Snape had been on his guard against love in those days. Love was something out of his reach-- something that would make him weak, vulnerable, and possibly ridiculous. In the past he had focused on attainable goals such as power and revenge. How odd that years later, when he no longer felt the need to be on guard, love had crept upon him like a predator and caught him unawares...

He wondered suddenly if his hatred for Potter was to blame for it. Would he have noticed Hermione much if she hadn't been associated with him? Since Severus had always been aware of Potter, he had also been aware of his friends-- and he had viewed them both with displeasure. But what if Hermione had never become tight with Potter? Would she have been simply another student to him?

Hermione was bright, but there were plenty of bright students at Hogwarts. On her own would she have attracted so much attention? Would she have done any of the audaciously clever things Potter had led her to do, or would she have just been an odd, studious geek? Would she have irritated Severus as much-- bothered him enough to steal her way into his heart, if it hadn't been for Potter?

A chilling thought occurred to him. If it hadn't been for Potter Hermione would be dead! A troll would have killed her in her first year. Severus remembered the three of them standing in the rubble of the ruined bathroom, innocuously small next to the body of the monster. The boys had somehow managed to bring it down-- _how _Snape had no idea-- and when faced with having to explain themselves, it was Hermione who had confessed to having sought it out herself.

That story had never sat well with Severus. He always suspected the child had been lying but hadn't known how to prove it. Little Miss Granger had been a know-it-all, but she hadn't been a rule breaker back then. Had she been ordered to go to her dormitory, she would have gone there-- if only to prove how obedient she was! Potter and Weasley had been far more likely to run off seeking adventure.

Perhaps they had dragged her with them, or she had run after them to stop them. Snape tried in vain to remember if the three had been together prior to battling the troll, but his memories of the time were murky. At that time he had been preoccupied with watching Quirrell. But it did seem as if the "dream team" had formed right about then. He wondered what the real mystery was.

Hermione looked up at him and their eyes locked. She appeared distressed, but Severus had no idea why. The faces of her friends showed no signs of trouble. They all seemed happy and carefree while Hermione, by contrast, was picking absently at a full plate of food-- a sure sign of inner turmoil. Snape knew his wife had an appetite problem. She never ate when she was nervous or unhappy. With the N.E.W.T's coming up, he'd have to watch her, or she'd starve herself to a skeletal state...

The thought of his wife wasting away churned Snape's already overwrought nerves. He saw Potter speak to her with a slightly snarky expression and he wondered what was being said. Was it a complaint about _him_? What did Hermione do when her friends abused him? Did she defend him, or would they shun her if she did that? Thankfully, at present the boy only appeared to be describing a Quiddich move so Hermione was probably just bored. She looked extremely tired.

Desire rose within him. After the irritation of Potter's detention, the painful memories he brought forth, and the bitter pong of lingering guilt, all Severus wanted to do at this moment was to bury it all in the enjoyment of his wife. He wanted to lose himself in loving her and find forgetfulness in her pleasure. Giving Hermione pleasure was one of the few good things he could actually do, and being married to her, he could do it whenever he wanted.

The bone-deep hunger he felt for her seemed to actually stimulate his appetite for dinner. Snape savored every bit of it, knowing there were further delights in store for him that night, and he forced himself to be patient. It was early yet. He still had a lengthy staff-meeting to get through as well as his monthly update with the Slytherin prefects. The knowledge that he need only wait was comforting.

When he finally returned to his rooms, Snape found Hermione already there, sitting at his study table and pouring over a book. Her face looked strained and tired, and her eyes appeared red-rimmed. Severus wondered what would cause her to look so haggard. Was it overwork or some personal concern? He wished he could say something to lift her melancholy, but he possessed no skill when it came to such conversation. Thankfully however, he knew no better tonic for the "blues" than good, satisfying sex.

He approached slowly. Her eyes were definitely red and slightly puffy as though she had been crying. Snape felt a moment of unease. Hermione was strong, and it would take something momentous to induce that much crying. Perhaps he should make inquiries. _Later... _Severus reached out and caressed her face, running his fingers down the silk of her cheek, and gently raising her chin.

"Come to bed, Hermione," he murmured softly.

The eyes that looked up at him were startled, but then she always looked startled when he made overtures to her. She always acted shy or embarrassed-- as if she suddenly remembered that, yes, she was married and that marriage involved sex... And always there was that moment of hesitation, that little pause of uncertainty, or perhaps unwillingness, before she acquiesced and gave herself to him.

Perversely, that little pause always cut him. It hurt that she didn't want him, though he knew that there was no real reason why she should. Why would she be eager for an ugly, older man-- a man with a dark past, a prickly personality, who had no idea how to communicate outside of sarcasm? Why should she actually _want _a man she had only married because she had to?

The fact that she _would _give in after that stiff, startled pause was only mildly gratifying. She would give in to him out of duty, and he would get sex when he wanted love. He wanted his wife to cherish him, desire him, and couple with him in passionate eagerness, but it might be better if he wished for the moon. At least he would _get _the sex-- and he could make her enjoy it even if she didn't really want him...

Hermione's red-rimmed eyes looked haunted, and slightly desperate, but she rose and prepared to give him what he wanted, putting away her books and retiring, as females always seemed, to the bathroom. As he waited, Snape had an uncomfortable feeling that he should have spoken more to her, but he had no idea what he would have said. The words he excelled in were not the sort that erased tears. The only way he could speak to her was with his hands, and with his body. To attempt anything else would be folly.

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Hermione closed the bathroom door and almost huddled behind it. She hadn't expected this, yet she should have. When things begin to go wrong, don't they usually get worse? _Of all the times for him_ _to want it, why did it have to be tonight?_ She shivered convulsively. The _last _thing she wanted to do right now was have sex! She wanted time to think and get used to all the changes in her life. She wanted to take refuge in the quiet safety of books. She wanted to cry. And she wanted to mourn...

She sat down on the edge of the tub and put her head in her hands. Sex with Snape wasn't bad. She _liked _it. But tonight she felt a bubbling volcano of hysteria rise within her at the very thought of it. Her limbs felt frozen and unable to move. She couldn't picture herself opening that door-- as she knew she had to-- and stepping out to let him touch her, kiss her, invade her in the most personal and intimate way...

But that was the deal she had signed on for, wasn't it? Her education, _her life, _for sex. She'd have been Malfoy's if it hadn't been for Snape-- raped, tortured, perhaps already dead. She had a duty to make this worth his while. And how bad could it actually be? She would just have to take a deep breath, calm herself (since Snape didn't do well with female nerves,) and simply get it over with...

A hideous sense of wrongness assailed her and her stomach cramped in revolt. _There was no way she_ _was going to be able to do this.._. It would be intolerable, a mockery of what marriage was supposed to actually be. She just couldn't! Surely she didn't have to give in to him every time he wanted it? She was a wife, not a slave! Of course she had obligations, but she had rights too..

_What would he do if she said no? _He certainly wouldn't be happy, but how angry would he be? Would he coerce her? He had done that the day she had learned of Jeanine's death, and she had given in. And what if he turned nasty at being refused? Hermione could think of a million ways Severus Snape could make himself unpleasant. She didn't want unpleasantness... coldness... sharpness... cruel sarcasm. She had little enough left in her life to be subject to that. But how could she pretend? Her soul would wither if she tried.

"Are you going to stay in there all night?" He sounded irritated and impatient.

Hermione shivered with further dread, but she felt galvanized, suddenly, with something else. She opened the door and faced him.

"I can't, Severus. I'm sorry, but not tonight, please. I just don't feel up to it. Another time..."

For a moment eyes so black they seemed impenetrable bored into hers and she steeled herself for a struggle. What followed wouldn't be easy. She had never refused him before, and he would probably be furious. Hermione had no idea what he would do or how she would cope, but she knew she somehow had to. All she really _did_ know was that she just couldn't go through the motions of empty lovemaking tonight-- not if she wanted to stay sane...

She braced herself for an explosion or possible violence, but nothing happened. There was a strained interval of silence where she felt herself shiver, and then she heard him sigh sharply in the near gloom. His voice when he spoke was quiet.

"Very well. If you are unable this evening I will accept a rain check for another night."

Hermione let out the breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding. Snape walked toward the bed.

"Come to bed, Hermione. You look tired."

She climbed into bed next to him and found herself shaking. He had given in-- just like that! Could it be that he hadn't wanted her after all? But no, he had definitely been aroused... His eyes had shown it, and he had been radiating that heady animal musk that always seemed to accompany his sexual heat-- like the halo of a human electrical charge.

That charge was still around him. She could sense it even though he was lying safely quiescent in the bed. The latent power she felt beside her made her shake still more. She had been so afraid he would be angry, that he would possibly force her. But he hadn't. Hermione felt tears prick at the edge of her eyes. Why did she suddenly want to cry again?

"Are you unwell, Hermione?" The question was a dusky velvet murmur in the dark.

"No," she whispered, straining to keep her voice steady. "I am not unwell."

"What is bothering you?"

Tears oozed out of her eyes and rolled onto her pillow. She couldn't tell him. How could she explain what Ron had done? That might touch off a storm that would hurt her friends...and her as well! Severus might never trust her again. And what if it was even worse? _What if he simply didn't care?_

"Nothing," she lied in as clear and untroubled tone as she could muster.

Stillness reigned for a moment.

"Then why are you crying?"

Hermione was startled. How in the world had he known? She hadn't sobbed. She hadn't sniffed. She hadn't even wiped her eyes. Even her breathing had been regular. It just wasn't fair!

"Tears have a peculiar scent, Hermione," he continued as if she had asked the question out loud. "One of the requirements for a mastery of potions is a sensitive nose."

"Oh." she said.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why I'm forced to smell them in my bed. I also noticed you didn't eat your dinner."

She drew in a shaky breath, more dratted tears rolling out of her eyes. How was she going to answer him? There was no way to put into words (that wouldn't cause trouble!) what had happened to her today. How could she explain to him the loss of a dream, a dream she had to watch pass by-- all the while being required to smile?

It hurt Hermione to think of Luna's face, beatific with the happiness she herself didn't have. It hurt worse to think of Ron and Luna together, doing the things she and Severus had done, to picture their union in love-- the love that was absent from her own marriage. Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell Severus that she envied them their love. He might say things that would hurt. But she had to make a reply.

Hermione thought of the alienation she had sensed in the midst of her group, the feeling that a "golden age" had passed. Soon she wouldn't even have that group. They would be leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year, and she would still be here...

"My friends," she whispered, her voice catching. "They're all changed. Every thing's changed. They're moving further and further away from me."

The umber velvet of his hushed reply floated disembodied in the chamber air. "But surely you knew that would happen, Hermione. You must have understood that it _was _inevitable."

"Not like this!" she choked. "We were almost like family!" _Closer than family, _she thought sadly.

"That sort of thing is normal at boarding school," he said. "And of course it can't last."

"I don't understand." She had always envisioned a long life with her friends, visiting, taking Holidays together, standing up at each other's weddings, naming their children after each other...

"Boarding school is an unnatural environment. Children leave their families at age eleven and only see them a few months out of every year. Therefore, to make up for the loss, they create new families for themselves out of their friends. They set up little tribes and clans, using our school Houses to fit that purpose. But upon leaving school, students go back to their true families and enter diverse professions. Their close school friendships don't necessarily break up, but they are never, ever the same."

Hermione was silent for a moment. What he said was obviously true, _and she had known it too..._ She just hadn't wanted to accept it. His sadly ironic tone hinted of personal experience, and she couldn't help the curiosity.

"Is that what happened to you and your friends when you left Hogwarts?"

"No. My school 'family' all became deatheaters and I joined them. Later I betrayed them. Most of my old friends are dead, Hermione, and those that aren't probably _should be."_

His buried bleakness chilled her. If she felt bereft, how must he feel? "I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. I chose my friends, just as you chose yours, and I am responsible for my actions. So were they."

She wondered suddenly if that was really true. Had she chosen her friends, or had they chosen her? Looking back, it seemed they had been thrown together by fate. How many choices did one really have? Did Severus have much choice at all in the forming of his friendships? He had been placed in Slytherin-- the "Tribe" his friends had all come from, and he couldn't have chosen that tribe any more than he could have chosen his hated actual family. And yet he accepted full responsibility, and shouldered the guilt...

"I have a question, Hermione," he said suddenly. "In your first year, when you encountered that troll, you said you had actually gone looking for it. I have never believed that. What actually happened?"

Some of the tension left her a little at his question. It was as though he could read her mind and knew she was thinking, nebulously, of that day. It had been so long ago, and for a very scary encounter, it now had the appearance of a fond memory. It was, after all, the day she had suddenly got friends... She sighed and actually giggled a little.

Oh that. You're right. I didn't go looking for the troll. I didn't even know there _was _a troll! I had gone to the bathroom to cry, you see. The other students didn't like me, and I overheard Ron saying I was a 'horror' and that I had no friends at all." _Odd how saying his name didn't hurt so badly as it had done only hours earlier. _"I wanted so hard to fit in but I couldn't. The troll got into the bathroom, and if Harry and Ron hadn't noticed I wasn't at dinner and gone to look for me I would probably be dead."

"Well, why in blazes didn't you say that?" Severus sounded a little peeved. "Why say you'd gone to look for the troll like, an idiot, when you didn't?"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose it seemed the right thing to do at the time. Harry and Ron didn't like me because I'd been showing off too much. I guess I thought that if I made myself look stupid, or something, it would make them look more heroic. Then they might forgive me for being a--"

"A know-it-all?"

"Yeah."

A dry chuckle wafted from Snape's direction. "You were still a know-it-all afterwards and it didn't stop the three of you from being thick as thieves."

"I know. Ever since that troll we were friends. It was a life changing experience." Hermione suddenly couldn't speak. Today's experience had been life-changing, but it had taken her further from her friends, not brought her closer.

"Most life-changing events don't seem to be good," Snape observed, again uncannily seeming to read her mind. "But there isn't much we can do about it-- except carry on."

"I guess," she agreed.

"That which does not kill me makes me stronger... Be thankful for your good memories, Hermione."

A warm hand found its way to hers under the covers, and Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat. "I'm sorry about... about tonight," she stammered.

His hand squeezed hers and she heard a snort from his side in the dark. "So am I. But I will do the honorable thing and wait for my rain-check. Perhaps I shall even collect it with _interest._.. Go to sleep, Hermione."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

After hours of lying restless and unsatisfied, Snape left his sleeping wife, donned his outer robes, and left to prowl the school. He wanted to discipline some rule-breakers... as long as it wasn't Potter again. Severus had had enough of him for one day. He didn't want to see more of Lilly's accusing eyes in that boy's impudent face. Some mistakes were long past mending. It was the story of his life.

The dungeon corridors were empty, and Severus noted with satisfaction that his strict discipline held and none of his Slytherins were out and about. It was odd, he mused, that he had spent more years of his life here-- in these very passageways-- than he had anywhere else. He had once hated school, but he had hated home worse. James Potter and his friends were _nothing _compared to what he faced at home, and he _had_ occasionally won against Potter...

Now his home was a mere husk of what it had once been but Severus would still rather stay here. The only time his house had ever felt like a home had been this last Christmas-- when Hermione had looked at him with tears in her eyes because he had given her a present. He had then tasted those happy tears, taking shameful advantage of her gratitude, when he had seduced her right there on the library floor...

_How he wished he could have done that tonight! _His body craved hers. Her very scent drove him almost mad. His hands itched to slide all over her, and he could taste her in his mind. Severus knew that if he had insisted she probably would have given in, but she had been distressed enough to actually say no to him-- the first time she had ever done so. Severus didn't want to force her. He wanted to feel her willing passion-- to know she enjoyed the love he gave her even if she didn't love him.

And that was possible. No matter what his wife thought of him, Snape knew he had awakened desire in her. He had sparked it, kindled it, and fed it continually until she was accustomed to its flame. Hermione was no longer an awkward, innocent schoolgirl because Severus had taught her a woman's passion-- a lesson that couldn't be untaught. She would never love him, he thought grimly, but she was _never _going to forget him. He had made sure that any man after him would seem wanting.

He passed Peeves tickling a suit of armor to get it to swing its ax and smash something.

"Get out!" he growled.

Peeves blew a loud raspberry and zoomed away laughing. Snape shook his head. Where was the Baron when you needed him? That was the biggest problem with this place-- lack of discipline and control! The forces of chaos were barely kept in check, and Severus was surprised there wasn't more visible damage and destruction. Of course the students were part of the problem.

He climbed to the fourth floor, shone his wand around suspiciously, but found no erring students. A couple of portraits grumbled at him. Well, too bad! Tonight he'd almost _award _points to catch some brats in a clandestine tryst. Since HE was frustrated, nothing would please him more than making sure everyone else was too. Catching the little sneaks in mid-act would be perfect, but he hadn't found any yet. A bad day unfortunately had become a bad night.

After stalking past Gryffindor tower and the wing devoted to Ravenclaw, Snape turned disgustedly back towards the dungeons, tucking his robes a bit more tightly around him as he went. The castle was drafty, and the February chill was beginning to bother him. He had only his nightshirt and slippers under his robes, and the thought of his warm bed beckoned-- it had a warm wife in it after all. He could always use a chastity potion so as not to disturb her, but perhaps his cold feet would wake her up anyway... _How long of a rain-check did he have to give her?_

Snape was so engrossed in the debate between the potion and seduction, that he almost missed the faint sounds from the alcove to his right-- sounds of giggling, heavy breathing, and gentle, ecstatic sighs. _Bingo. _Snape squared his shoulders and marched over, his footfalls hard echoes on the stone floor. The sounds suddenly stilled in the seemingly vacant alcove. Perhaps it was only imagination...

But Severus had long experience in the stalking of rule-breakers. He could sense the proximity of body heat, the tiny whisper of hushed breathing and hammering hearts. He reached gropingly through what looked like empty air, and his fingers touched fabric. Snape almost cursed in exasperation. He was really tired of catching Potter! He gave the fabric a yank, but instead of uncovering dark hair and an angry flash of spectacles, he saw a tousled shock of red. Well, well...

"Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood," he pronounced slowly. "Twenty points each from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

Snape scowled at Ron's flushed, freckled face and at the adolescent mouth swollen from snogging. Was this why Hermione's eyes had been red-rimmed? He supposed he should be glad the stupid whelp had taken up with someone else instead of her, but at this moment it was flamingly inconvenient. Weasley was obviously the reason Snape was facing a cold shower! He suddenly wanted to be very cruel.

"Is this your taste in men, Miss Lovegood? Pathetic! And I actually thought you had self esteem!"

"Changing your tactics, Mr. Weasley? Groping about with Ravenclaws since you can't have my wife?"

The girl's expression remained placid but Ron's eyes bugged. His flush disappeared and his face was suddenly pasty. "You know?" he gasped, trembling. "She _told_ you?"

Severus froze with sudden deadly cold. There was a loud hammering in his ears, and he hardly noticed himself advancing on the boy. "_Told me what?_" he demanded. "**_What?_**"

Freckles stood out like dark polka-dots on Weasley's white skin. His mouth opened in horror. "What I did... what I said... I... I... Oh please!" The boy looked more frightened than Snape had ever seen him. "We didn't do anything! I swear! She said no!"

Feeling murderous, Snape brandished his wand. "Legilimens!" he snarled. Entering Ron's mind was like sliding through butter and just about as appealing. With ruthless brutality he pulled forth the memory, barely hearing the boy's cry of pain as he did so. In minutes he had seen it all: the awkward proposition, Hermione's anguished eyes... _Ron, don't... _alarm, horror. _I can't! It's WRONG! __But he doesn't love you! He's using you! __That doesn't matter either... _desolation. _Good-by Ron..._

Ron was gasping and holding his head when Snape left his mind . "You can't do that!" he blurted petulantly. "Teachers aren't supposed to do legilimancy on students! It's against the rules!"

"And attempting to seduce a professor's wife ISN'T?"

Snape turned to Luna with a sneer. "Now you know what your lover is really like! How does it feel knowing he only wants you because he can't have her?"

Luna's face was oddly calm, and the incongruity of it make his spine shiver. She was the type of witch Muggles would have burned at the stake... Her eyes met his squarely.

I know Ron loved Hermione first, Professor, just like I once loved Harry." Her voice was quiet and reasonable, and in it sadness and resignation danced the tango with serene acceptance. "Sometimes we can't always have what we want, and sometimes it's actually better that way."

"Indeed?" Snape found himself pausing. Miss Lovegood was a healer and this _lousy_ brat didn't deserve her. "Which, I suppose, is why you are a Ravenclaw instead of a foolish, headstrong Gryffindor! Go back to your dormitory." Both moved to go. "Not you, Weasley. We have unfinished finished business..."

Ron watched Luna leave and then looked fearfully back at Snape. Severus closed the distance between them menacingly.

"Do you realize, _Mr. _Weasley, that under Wizarding Law I can challenge you to duel for what you have done? How long do you think you could last against me, Hmm?" Snape's wand made lazy circles around the boy's face-- which now looked more green than white to where it resembled a moldy, polka-dotted cheese. "I won't challenge you because you are a student. But one more time, just one more time..."

"She said no!' Ron squeaked.

Snape grabbed him by the collar and shook him. "OF COURSE she said no, you _idiot_! She knows what I'd do to you if she didn't! But at least now she sees you for what you really are-- a dishonorable little weakling with no scruples, sense, or self control! And if you so much as _touch _her again, student or no, _I'll carve you into pieces with my wand! _Now get out of my sight! _I _will go back to my WIFE."

"Don't hurt her!" Ron begged. "She didn't do anything wrong. Please! It's all my fault!"

Severus curled his lip. "Don't hurt her?" he said softly. "Why, I don't need to, Mr. Weasley. YOU have already done that. Why should I punish _her _when you are the culprit? In fact, I plan to reward her for her loyalty to me, and I shall do so very thoroughly--- _again, and again, and again!" _

The boy looked seriously sick, and Snape sneered in his face. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. I have a husband's privilege, and I enjoy it! Hermione may well have lingering feelings for you, but when she and I are together-- when WE are _one_-- it is MY name she screams in passion, not yours. In MY bed, and in MY arms, she doesn't even remember you _exist! _Now GET OUT!_"_

The redhead dashed away as if chased by werewolves and Severus remained in the now empty alcove. He still shook with outraged fury and soul chilling hurt. He could still see the bereavement on Hermione's face, and it had probably been beyond stupid to have poked into Weasley's mind to witness it. Obviously she cared for for the boy the way Severus wanted her to love _him. _If she had seen Ron later with Luna, it was no wonder she hadn't been in the mood.

But would she ever be? Would she shrink from him forever...or hate him? Hermione's thought processes seemed profoundly different from his own... _better than his own. _She didn't seem the sort to hate easily, and her deep well of militant kindness made her beautiful beyond words. Severus was intensely grateful that he had answered the impulse to hold his feelings in check and NOT push the issue tonight. He wondered how he had done that.

In spite of his annoyance and frustration, he felt oddly proud that Hermione had shown a woman's strength and initiative earlier. Severus wasn't attracted to doormats. He really didn't want her to dutifully service him like some sort of docile, servile concubine. _That would never lead to her want him! _As much as his body protested the loss of sexual release, he was grudgingly glad to respect her.

And it did hearten him a little that in Weasley's mind he had seen the memory of her anger in his defense. _"There's no need to insult him!" _Hermione had actually stood up for him. She hadn't joined her erstwhile suitor in vilifying him because he stood in the way of her happiness. _"even if I wanted to..." _What on earth had she meant by that? Could she possibly care about him...a little.. as a friend if nothing else?

Severus mused bitterly that now that he knew what her problem was, he wouldn't be able to collect on his "raincheck" for a while. How long did it take for a woman to get over a first love-- even if it was only puppy love? He didn't know how long he could last without having her, but he understood that he would have to give her time. He couldn't just force himself on her while she was pining for another man. Even _he _wasn't that cruel. Besides, he loved her... And how could he take his pleasure with her under those conditions knowing she resented him all the more?

But if he did exercise patience she might reward him with a bit more willingness... or maybe not. But he would give her time anyway. She didn't love him but he DID care for her. He certainly wasn't good at love, making friends, or engaging in any sort of sanguine relations with people, but at least he could make a try. For her sake.

With a sigh, Severus rose grumpily to begin brewing some more chastity potion.


	24. New Friends and Old

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 24: **_**New Friends... and Old **_

It was amazing, Hermione mused, working over her arithmancy homework, how events that would once have seemed heartbreaking, or just plain infuriating, could settle in just a few short weeks into a state of normalcy. That first strained encounter where she had to work hard to pretend that she didn't care if Ron and Luna were seeing each other, that it didn't bother her that _everyone _seemed to be pairing up, had actually been the worst of it. After that, things had gotten progressively easier.

So everyone was coupling up. That was just the way it was. No one could go on being twelve years old forever, and the world couldn't stay the way it was when one was twelve either. People grew up and their friends did too, and eventually their circle enlarged... The little threesome Hermione had been part of for the last six years had suddenly grown from three to five. The hardest part was knowing she would always be the odd person out because her own partner could never be included.

Now Hermione was part of a new threesome. With relationships suddenly regrouping around sexual lines, she found herself hanging with Luna and Ginny, instead of Harry and Ron. On one level it was difficult since she had been friends with the boys for years, and she really didn't relish being pushed aside into a sort of social purdah. But on the other hand, Hermione had never had a close girlfriend or been part of a group of girls before. She had also never had a sister. If Harry and Ron had been the brothers she had always wished for, Luna and Ginny had now became the sisters. It was surprisingly comforting.

"Hey 'Mione, do you know the fifth use of powdered goat horn? Luna thinks it's a blood coagulant, but I don't remember reading that. I think it's a heart stimulator."

"You're thinking of powdered stag horn," Hermione replied scribbling some more neat figures on her parchment. "It's used in wound dressings to staunch bleeding. You don't make a potion with it though. Not unless you want to brew poison. It would give the drinker a stroke."

"Cross out that bit about potions then Luna," said Ginny looking over at her friend's parchment. "Hermione probably knows what she's talking about when it comes to potions. She's married to the potions master after all."

"I'm sure that doesn't make much of a difference Ginny," said Luna. "He probably doesn't help her with her homework. Does he, Hermione?"

"No. And I wouldn't expect him to. He's a teacher and I'm a student. It would be cheating. Anyway, he told me he's not supposed to act as my teacher. But he does have a lot of books that he lets me read. Many of them are on potions."

"Oh, well," said Ginny. "That must be convenient for you. All those books..."

Hermione had to admit that studying with the girls had its advantages. While they often asked her questions, they didn't expect her to do their homework _for _them. They also didn't treat the subject of her marriage like a taboo. And while they didn't delve gleefully into her personal life like Lavender and Parvati usually did, they didn't tiptoe around the subject either. Neither pretended Hermione was still single and unchanged. They accepted her just as she was, a student in a completely different life situation who was till somehow one of them.

While Harry and Ron acted like her married state had changed her into a different species, Ginny and Luna seemed to feel that it gave her something in common with them. Their friend was still a geek. She still read more books than was good for her, and put too much emphasis on knowledge for its own sake, but she had a partner... like they did. There wasn't the sort of awkwardness that usually results when a group of attached women interact with someone single. And there was an element of curiosity..

Geek though she was, Hermione was further along in life than they were. As a married woman, she had been initiated into the adult world-- not because of having sex, but because of her experience in actually _living _with someone. Hermione knew the give and take of sharing space with a man day in and day out. She had even survived arguments and had emerged unscathed. Luna and Ginny were only just beginning to imagine their possible futures with the boys they cared about. Hermione already had the coping skills, and they both seemed fascinated as to how she managed this.

They didn't ask a lot of questions. No one really wanted intimate information about Professor Snape. What they wanted to learn was more subtle. They watched her. Did marriage _change_ a person? Could someone really live with a man so completely different from themselves and retain their sanity? And what about a one's individuality? Did a woman become stronger from the experience of a shared life, or she get swallowed up in the man's power? They never asked her about sex.

While they didn't pry into her personal life with Snape, they discussed the boys continually. They sniggered together over Harry and Ron's awkward cluelessness, including their friend in a sort of collective feminine bond of superiority. Through them, Hermione had a glimpse of what her two old best friends were like as boyfriends. Since Harry and Ron seemed to be avoiding her like the plague, it was closest she came to actually being with them.

"I thought powdered stag horn was an aphrodisiac," mentioned Ginny with a slight frown, "not something medicinal."

"Anything can be medicinal if used properly and mixed with the right other ingredients," replied Hermione absently.

"So... is it a _hart _stimulator, or a _heart _stimulator?" asked Luna in patent innocence.

Ginny giggled and shook her head. "Oh that was _bad! _Hart stimulator! No wonder Ron likes you. That's just the sort of corny joke he thinks is funny. Bet you two don't need an aphrodisiac!"

"No, not really," Luna smiled happily, "But perhaps Ron could use an anti-aphrodisiac once in a while. I think I'm a little distracting to him. He needs to put more time into his schoolwork."

"Ron? _Study? _Oh you've got to be kidding! Harry's just as bad. All they think about is Quiddich and-- US! You have to put him in his place Luna. Just womp him over the head a couple of times if he gets out of line. And don't worry, he's used to it. That's how mum keeps him on the straight and narrow."

Luna smiled again. "I make sure he studies. But I don't have to womp him. I ask him to help me with _my _schoolwork, and then he ends up doing his. It's sweet how he likes to show me how smart he is. Then he's extra sweet after the homework is done."

"I'll bet!" Ginny laughed while a silent Hermione kept her eyes on her arithmancy paper

She always felt a little uncomfortable when Ginny or Luna alluded, however innocently, to something romantic. She didn't want to know about it. She didn't want to hear if Harry had nice legs under his robes, where Ron was the most ticklish, or how difficult it was to find secluded areas in the castle. She certainly didn't want to imagine her friends sleeping together.

And it didn't make a difference that they never openly talk about it. Months of marriage to Severus Snape had given her experiences she could only once have guessed at. It was all too easy to picture Ginny and Luna doing some of the embarrassingly pleasant things with their new boyfriends that she had done with Severus... things she had now resumed doing.

It had been well over two weeks before Snape had claimed his "rain check." At first Hermione had been very relieved at his lack of interest. Each night she had waited tensely for her husband to indicate that he wanted her, to interrupt her reading by taking the books right out of her hand, or simply by starting to undress her. But he didn't. Every evening when she didn't have to perform, that she could just go to bed or stay up reading, seemed an unexpected blessing.

Hermione was in far too much turmoil of heart to have submitted with any real willingness, but she would have done so. After all, she had told him that she would. But it was a relief when she continued to go unmolested. she was having a hard time sorting out all her feelings to want to have to deal with that too. She found it sadly bewildering that everything had changed too quickly to let her savor one last moment of the "old days." Thankfully, while she strove to adjust, Severus Snape left her completely alone.

But after a week, she began to get a little apprehensive. Perhaps he was punishing her. Perhaps he was so angry with her for refusing him that now he didn't want her anymore at all. It was bizarre for Hermione to be worried about that-- to be afraid on one hand that he would pursue his husbandly prerogative, and yet be actually concerned on the other that he wouldn't-- yet it bothered her just the same. She didn't know what was wrong with her. It was crazy to think this way, but perhaps she was going crazy. Or perhaps it was just the loneliness...

That first week Hermione had felt so incredibly alone. Ron wouldn't talk to her. He wouldn't even look at her, and there were moments when it even seemed he was almost afraid to be around her. And Harry, loyal as always, followed suit, sticking with Ron and Ginny and hardly having much to do with Hermione if she was alone. To have Severus avoid close contact with her too seemed to make all this worse. After all, if he stopped having sex with her entirely what else would their marriage consist of?

While she knew Severus didn't love her, she had hoped he would come to like her. But obviously he didn't. Perhaps he regretted marrying her. In her darkest moments, she wondered if he actually hated her, but had to admit it unlikely. He didn't act _hateful_ to her, and she had seen enough of his hateful side over the years to know what it looked like. Snape was aloof and stiff, always distant and unapproachable, but he wasn't really giving her the cold shoulder either. It was very confusing.

At one point in the second week Snape asked her to help him brew Wolfsbane, and during the brewing they had an in-depth discussion. Hermione learned all about the history of the potion, the various ingredients, and all the different ways it could go wrong-- knowledge she found facinating. Severus actually let her do a lot of the work, conveniently forgetting he wasn't supposed to teach her anything, and ignoring the fact that it was supposed to be several levels too difficult for her. He also suggested a few books she should read, and after she eagerly devoured them, he asked her questions. He made no allusions whatsoever to sex.

As time went on Hermione found herself wishing that he would... She started to watch him, to glance at him now and then whenever they were in the same room together, looking for signs that he might possibly want her again. After two weeks she really began to actively _want_ him to seduce her. She liked sex. She liked the pleasure he gave her, and in the midst of her loneliness and alienation, she wanted the comfort of that pleasure. If she couldn't have real love, at least she could have that...

But her husband had seemed more interested in his potions, his books, and his experiments than he had been in sex, and she had watched him covertly in rising frustration. Perhaps he really had lost interest in her. After all, she was just a student-- and not even a pretty one at that. Hermione had no idea how his mind worked-- what he was thinking of her-- and she had no idea either of how to make any overtures to him. How did one broach the subject of sex with Severus Snape? What if he laughed at her... or said something witheringly sarcastic? Sometimes she stared at him so hard she felt sure it would burn a hole in those billowing black robes. She really didn't want to go on feeling so alone.

Finally, at a moment she had stolen yet another glance at him, he had turned and looked back at her. One eyebrow had raised almost mockingly and a corner of his mouth had quirked upward. Rising fluidly like a negligent panther, he had strode over and asked in that rich velvet whisper,

"So what do you think, my sweet. Shall I collect on my rain check?"

And she had practically melted into him.

Hermione's cheeks burned at the memory of that particular night. She had been so eager, so thankful that she wasn't completely unwanted, that when he had kissed her she had responded with wanton openness. Clothes seemed to have shed themselves without effort, flesh strained against flesh, and Hermione had surrendered completely. Her reward had been very great. Severus had been incredibly gentle with her, and if she hadn't know better, almost tender. He had taken a lot of time, seeming to savor every step on the way to his satisfaction, and Hermione had experienced a level of pleasure so poignant it had almost brought her to tears.

It had been a very long night too... Hermione hadn't minded that because it had been good, but she couldn't help feeling there was something sadly surreal about engaging in such passionate lovemaking with a man who didn't love her, and who she didn't love in return. At one point she had even tried to imagine he was someone else-- a different man who perhaps cared for her, but she couldn't. It was impossible to separate a man's _being _from his body, and Severus had a habit of driving all conscious thoughts out of her head. Once in his arms, it was different to think of anything else but him.

Ginny and Luna continued to work on their Potions essays, still making occasional references to aphrodisiacs and powdered stag horn in particular. Neither of them had noticed her blush or her possible discomfort. Hermione found that a little irritating. Did they never think? But of course they didn't-- or at least Ginny didn't (one never knew with Luna.) But while _she _had no trouble picturing her friends and their boyfriends together, Hermione knew they would never be able to imagine her with Severus. There was no way they would be able to understand her situation. Hermione suddenly felt far older.

That night, after their long interval of passion was over, she had whispered to him, "That was wonderful," only to hear quiet chuckling emanate from his side in the dark.

"I told you I would collect interest Hermione... Apparently there are advantages to the married state."

Obvious questions had screamed themselves in her mind. _If there were advantages to the married state, why had he entered into it so late in his life? And why had he married HER? _What was his purpose? He had to have one. He was a Slytherin after all. He needn't have taken her just for sex. Men didn't have to marry to get that, and it was obvious from his wealth of experience that it had never stopped him before. What was his game? Was she simply a sexual toy for him, or was she a pawn in some larger scheme? Why _did _he marry her?

These were questions she knew she could never ask him. If he deigned to answer at all, Hermione was positive she wouldn't like whatever he said. Snape might be generous in bed, but that was probably to enhance his own experience. In speech he was brutally honest and he wasn't likely to spare any of her feelings. Hermione didn't want to actually hear that she was only a pleasant convenience, a trophy in a status war, a duty performed for the Order, or perhaps an object of pity...

But did Snape feel pity? He was generally seen as heartless and completely lacking in emotion, but he wasn't really. He definitely had feelings. Hermione just didn't understood what his feelings were. Questions were multiplying like rabbits in her mind. She wanted to understand him. She wanted to know how he thought about things, what events had led him to be the way he was. She wanted to learn about his past, why he had stayed alone for so long. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he had been married to someone before her. The curiosity she had been born with had given her no respite.

"Severus, can I ask you something?" she had wound up inquiring.

The voice that answered sounded warily resigned. "No doubt I won't be able to stop you." Feeling the vibration of it through his bare chest was an uncanny experience. He did have an extraordinary voice.

"Um.. I was wondering. You're a pureblood. I mean, you come from one of the old families..." She paused for a tiny moment. She knew Snape hated any mention of his family, but since she had broached the subject she would have to go on. "How come you never married before now? From what I've read, most of those clans arrange marriages for their children at a young age."

She winced a bit at the moment of silence that followed, but she couldn't have stopped herself from asking questions. There was so much she didn't know about him, and she had a feeling it would be better to know more than less. And she knew he was more receptive to talking after an amorous night.

"They did try," he finally said softly. "My...aunts attempted to marry me to one of my cousins, but I refused. The last thing I wanted was to be further connected to my.. family." He made the word sound like a curse. "When they could not induce me, they attempted to force it upon me through the Darklord. Fortunately, they were unsuccessful."

Hermione was almost dumbstruck. "They tried to get _Voldemort _to make you get married?" This was amazing. It was almost as bad as what the Ministry had done to her.

Severus tensed momentarily at the sound of his former master's spoken name, but then sighed and chuckled mirthlessly. "The only good thing the Darlklord ever did for me was to prevent that union, though I'm sure he didn't actually have _my _benefit in mind. The Darklord didn't have a high opinion of the institution of marriage."

"Why not?" Hermione couldn't for the life of her figure out what Voldemort would have against marriage. He had been all for keeping families pureblooded. One would think he'd have encouraged such things as marriage among his followers. Obviously, Snape's terrible aunts had thought so too.

"He saw no reason for it, Hermione. Marriage exists to form alliances between families. The Darklord wished to break all alliances that were not to himself. Marriage unions are also established to beget descendants, heirs. To the darklord, that was unnecessary."

"Why unnecessary?"

"Because he intended to live forever. If one never dies, then descendants become a problem, don't they? The Darklord never encouraged his followers to marry, although he didn't always stop them. When he did, I'm sure he took delight in the belief that he was thwarting our desires. I never corrected that belief, and neither did my 'intended.' I'm sure she was no more eager for the match than I was."

"What was she like, the girl you were supposed to have married? Whatever happened to her?" Hermione had had a sudden desire to picture the girl Severus had jilted simply because she was related to him. Had she been pretty? Prettier than herself? Had she been hurt that her cousin didn't want her, or had she disliked him for other reasons?

Snape's voice had turned instantly harsh. "What was she _like_? She was a sadistic murderess who specialized in the abduction of children, and who would have tortured _you_ for sport simply because of your background! As to what happened to her, you will have to ask the aurors. They got to her before I did. My sincere hope is that she lived long enough to meet the dementers up close and _personal_!"

Hermione had shivered after such a bitter reply. She couldn't imagine a family so bad that it would create such long lasting hatred. And she was sorry she had roused Severus to an angry state when they had been getting along so well again. That curiosity of her always got her in trouble. Yet she still wanted to know more-- _she always wanted to know more! _How could you live with someone, be intimate with them, without wanting to understand them?

"I didn't mean to make you angry," she ventured.

"I know you didn't, but no more questions, Hermione. Go to sleep. Let the dead rest in whatever pieces they lie in, and be thankful that they're dead instead of wreaking more havoc on the world."

"I can't help being curious." She had said it almost defensively.

"No, and I suppose I can't stop your curiosity. I am the one, however, that's left with the task of protecting you from it."

Hermione was a little bit affronted by that. "But what if I don't need protection?" _Or want it._

"You do, child. Believe me, you do."

Severus had sounded harsh and forbidding, but his body hadn't echoed the tone of his words. He didn't turn from her or push her away, and he hadn't dislodged her from her comfortable position in the crook of his arm. If anything, he had held her more securely. Hermione wondered, as she considered her two comparably innocent girlfriends, if there was any way they could ever understand the confused reality that was her marriage.

How could Ginny and Luna, whose boyfriends were as simple as Sunday morning toast, even begin to see what Hermione discovered everyday... that pleasure could exist with conflict, the touch of warm skin with misunderstanding. Delight and dark mystery, camaraderie and confusion, comfort and hurt, belonging and distance... Did unions involving square pegs always result in emotional bruising? Or would it have been the same with anyone she had ended up married to-- even with someone as uncomplicated as Ron?

Was there really such a thing as a _simple _marriage? Hermoine began to wonder if anything in life were simple at all. Luna looked up at her in that minute and smiled, and Hermione felt suddenly infused with warmth. She didn't understand that either. Obviously friendship was complicated too.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"To our continued friendship," said Lucius Malfoy, extending his crystal wineglass toward Severus, the dark red liquid within it a sparkling garnet splash.

"Indeed," Snape answered smoothly, returning the salute and wondering what the hell he was doing here...

He eyed the wine carefully before taking a sip and surreptitiously tried to sniff it. Poisoned Bordeaux might appeal to Malfoy's sense of style, but Severus doubted his glass would kill him. There was no tell-tale scent of poison, and while _he _knew scores of undetectable toxins, rich, privileged Lucius probably didn't. Snape raised the glass to his lips. There was a Bezoar in his pocket just in case. The wine was very good.

Lucius gazed in triumph at Snape's undisguised appreciation and took a prolonged sip himself. "Elf-made. Superb vintage. I shall send you a bottle to share with your wife." He laughed at Snape's change of expression and took another drink. "Or to enjoy on your own... Why waste such excellent wine?"

Severus forced himself to smile and to keep his expression, and even his thoughts, under control. It was what he had done before with the Darklord, and to a lesser extent, with Albus. He was back in his role as a spy-- the _last _thing he had wanted to do. _But since when did he ever get what he wanted? _By now, he should really be used to that.

The invitation to Malfoy Manor had come as a surprise-- an unwelcome surprise. He hadn't been on good terms with Lucius since the fall of the Darklord, and he'd been on tenterhooks before that... The rivalry within the Darklord's circle had kept them all suspicious of each other. They had eyed one another constantly, jealous of each other's position, begrudging one another any hint of favor, ready to do dirt to each other to climb higher in the ranks. The deatheaters were nothing like the Order of the Phoenix.

Snape would have tossed the invitation into the trash where it belonged (and set it on fire,) but a nagging little wraith of suspicion made him think again. Malfoy was up to something and he wanted to know what it was. The man wore his pureblood heritage like a badge of honor. He was acting totally out of character taking Muggleborn women openly in marriage. While Snape had no trouble imagining his former friend using them for sport, Lucius usually preferred to do his dirty work in secret. He was playing a dangerous game here.

And why the sudden interest in _him_? Snape had kept his distance from Malfoy ever since the first fall of the Darklord. Only the fact that Severus was Draco's godfather had kept him connected. Letting the distance widen between them hadn't been hard. Malfoy had been a socialite, while Severus had been a scholar. It had been easy to avoid him by hiding at Hogwarts and pursuing his research. Months, sometimes a year, would pass without them even seeing each other, and Severus could always claim the pressures of work.

Lucius hadn't been eager to seek out his company in the past either. After the first fall of the Darklord, any surviving deatheaters stayed far away from each other to deflect attention. They all wanted to appear as normal and as mainstream as possible. And they were distrustful. People were turning each other in right and left, and aurors were conducting raids and making arrests. No one knew how or why the Darklord had been vanquished. Many thought there had been a traitor in the ranks...

When the Darklord returned, his deatheaters returned with him, but the deep distrust survived. Gone were the early days of camaraderie, where service to the Darklord was one big festival of murder, mayhem, and debauchery. They were all fifteen years older... and jaded. Destruction, rape, and murder still went on, but without the party atmosphere. Everyone knew it could end again.

Even though their leader had miraculously returned, even the stupidest among them realized that he was not all-powerful or immortal. If he had been defeated once, he could be defeated again, and the fact that little Harry Potter kept eluding him didn't look good. Not that they would think of rebelling... The Darklord was more powerful than _they _were, and if he won, they all got patronage. But if he lost, they all lost, and he was capricious. They all knew he would sacrifice each and every one of them to save himself.

After the final fall of the Darklord, any semblance of cohesion in the ranks had broken down entirely. People turned on each other... or disappeared. Most of them had had bolt-holes or alibis prepared in advance. In the last Auror mop-up, "loyal" deatheaters did nothing to save their own family members let alone each other. Severus wondered if poor, dutiful Narcissa Malfoy had been sacrificed in the scramble for survival. At the time, he had never thought to inquire. He still didn't want to know.

Lucius raised his glass again. "To old times," he said, while Severus nodded and followed suit. "We haven't seen much of you these days," came the discomforting comment.

"No," Snape replied quietly. "Duties have kept me occupied for the most part. And then there is the question of prudence... These are dark times for all of us." He eyed Malfoy ironically. The look the blond wizard returned was inscrutable.

"Quite so," said Lucius as a terrified looking house-elf suddenly appeared with a tray of dainties. He waved a hand in a gesture of deceptive negligence, directing the creature to deposit its burden and leave. The elf put the tray down and bowed deeply, disappearing with frantic eagerness. Malfoy picked up one of the elaborate offerings and nodded invitingly to Severus.

"Do take some refreshment my friend. It is dull indeed to drink without eating, and while I'm sure the kitchen staff at Hogwarts is excellent, I doubt such things as caviar and pate are served very often. My own kitchen elves are second to none... and have improved considerably since the departure of that incompetent Dobby."

"A blessing for you in disguise, perhaps," murmured Severus mentally pitying any elf unfortunate to still reside at Malfoy Manor. He took one of the dainties offered and considered it for a moment before taking a bite.

Slipping poison into food was far easier than adulterating wine since the mingling of so many flavors made its detection more difficult. Yet he really didn't believe Lucius was planning to poison him today. There were safer ways of killing someone-- ways that wouldn't point the finger immediately at him, which would surely happen if Snape dropped dead in his house. Still, he smelled the food carefully before putting it in his mouth, and chewed slowly before swallowing. Lucius was blastedly right. It was better than anything Hogwarts ever served.

Malfoy beamed with smugness. "It is the consensus of opinion of those who survived, my friend, that there was a traitor in our midst."

Snape almost choked, but his iron control held and any hesitancy in his swallowing was infinitesimal.

"No doubt there was," he answered quietly. "And I'm sure the guilty party, or the group of those complicit, are doing whatever they can to cast suspicion on anyone other than themselves."

"It may interest you to know, Severus, that many of our number consider that traitor to be you."

"Really?" Severus forced his voice to be calm, and his hand to be steady as he took another canape-- this one appearing to contain caviar. "And why me in particular?" _Yes, and why invite me to dine if you suspect me? _Not a trace of poison seemed to be in the caviar.

"It does appear odd, does it not, Snape, that while scores of our comrades lie dead or are languishing in Azkeban, that _you _manage to come through it all apparently unscathed. Doesn't that seem strange? I, for one, can't help but be curious."

Severus consumed a delicious bit of escargot with an almost defiant little gulp. "You always had a curious nature, Lucius. I suppose my present good health and freedom _do _seem suspicious... as does the fact that _you too _appear to be thriving... and in such obvious, opulent ease."

At that, surprisingly, Lucius burst into sudden laughter. He lifted his glass in another salute. "Oh, touche, Severus! Cagey as always. You haven't changed a bit. That's what I like about you."

Snape allowed his lips to twitch slightly as if in droll wit. "I did learn from the best, after all."

"Yes," Malfoy agreed. "You did... _ME." _He knocked back the rest of his wine. "Ah, those were the good old days, weren't they? It's hard to believe almost thirty years have passed since we were at school." He laughed again. "You were such a serious little thing when I first saw you. Deadly too. Couldn't look at you sideways for fear of attack." Lucius sounded fondly approving. "Whoever would have thought you'd end up a _teacher?"_

"It pays the bills, Lucius," Snape replied a little waspishly. "My estate is mortgaged and I owe back taxes. It seems _MY _friends in high places were not as generous as yours."

At that, Malfoy's expression fairly oozed ill-concealed satisfaction. He was obviously pleased that their past positions seemed to be repeating. No doubt he found it gratifying to hope that he might regain Severus as some kind of subordinate. Snape didn't want to remember himself as the shy, miserable first year who jumped at the mere suggestion of attack, and who hero-worshiped the sure, handsome older boy that encouraged and occasionally protected him. That boyhood hero brought out his worst and led him eagerly into hell.

"I had no idea things were so bad, my friend," Lucius said in mock concern. "Perhaps I can give you some assistance, throw some opportunities your way... With talents such as yours, I'm sure you could have your pick of contracts."

_At what price... my soul? There is a possibility I still have one. _Severus kept his expression bland. He had deliberately exaggerated his financial difficulties in order to make sense of his job as a teacher. The reason he had applied for it in the first place was to please the Darklord, and he had stayed with it afterwards in order to please Albus. Teaching at Hogwarts had been an excellent position for a double agent since he could appear to both sides as the perfect mole. Later he had stayed because of Miss Granger. Good thing too. He had a feeling that whatever Lucius was involved in would affect her in some way.

"So how is married life treating you?"

This was the question he had been waiting for. "Quite well, actually. It's amazing what regular sex does for one's health and wellbeing."

"And what about the fact that she is Harry Potter's close friend? She doesn't manage to give you any trouble, does she?" Snape knew what his _dear _friend was hoping to hear and he also knew had to give it.

"Hardly, Lucius. She's a child still really, and completely under my thumb... and under any other portion of my anatomy that I choose to place her. And it beats the hell out of simply giving detentions. I can plow my field as often as I wish, any _way _that I wish, and she does whatever I tell her. She even pretends on occasion to actually enjoy it, although it is quite possible she isn't pretending. I'm not without skill after all."

_No, he wasn't without skill. _And it seemed his decision to wait with her had actually been a good one. He had watched her carefully for what felt like forever until he had sensed her wariness, her closed, guarded defensiveness in his presence slowly fade. He had been surprised to catch her occasionally looking at him, confused, searching... Perhaps she had been worried that he was angry at her. Whatever the reason, when he had finally accosted her she had made no resistance. She had seemed actually eager, and for once there had been no stiff moment of hesitation before she gave into him.

How pleasant that eagerness had been! Just the memory of her open mouth when he kissed her, her warm, yielding flesh, and her obvious enjoyment of whatever he did to her, stirred his heart. True, she was still more of a passive partner than otherwise, but all things considered, that was better than nothing. Severus had gone out of his way to give her a good night and he had made that night last a very long time.

Malfoy's wicked chuckling brought his thoughts back to the present moment. Lucius was pouring himself another glass and eying it reflectively. "I'm very glad to hear you're enjoying yourself so well my friend. I must say you've had me worried for a while."

"Why?" Snape asked in mild indignation. _Why indeed? _Did Lucius think he was gay? And why all this sudden interest in his married life?

"I have always thought it was odd that while other wizards of our position were doing our duty to secure our various bloodlines, you eschewed all interest in it."

"That was because I wished to keep my freedom and wait before tying myself down with a wife." He also would rather have died than further his family's bloodline... Snape extended his wineglass for another refill and smirked slightly at Lucius. "Of course not all of us were lucky enough to be offered the hand of Narcissa Black."

Lucius grinned. "True indeed, my friend. But you were offered that pretty cousin, the one with the gorgeous red hair."

Snape shuddered. It was bad enough Hermione had to question him about his past without Malfoy doing it too. "So what if I was? Just because she was beautiful didn't mean I had to marry her. Beauty I could have whenever I wanted. I could _take _it whenever I wanted, as you and I often did."

His soul cringed at the memories that statement dredged up, at the things he had followed Lucius into doing. Malfoy's evil smile glittered at him. Obviously, his host treasured the very memories Snape shrank from. "Freedom is something that once lost, is rarely gained," he continued. "Our lord at the time agreed with me. Besides, she would have made a lousy wife. She was stubborn, willful, and spoiled completely rotten."

Spoiled hadn't been the word... Aunt Solara, who went out of her way to torture and terrorize the children of her brother Septimus, had indulged her own child outrageously. That alone had made Severus dislike his cousin. The fact that she had discovered him protecting his smallest sister from the others, _and had told on him, _had caused him to hate her with passion. What had been done to him and his poor sister because of her still haunted his fevered nightmares. He would have died before marrying that monster... as Hermione would have died before marrying someone like Malfoy.

"I'm surprised then that you would seek matrimony now at the august age of forty. Most men become set in their ways."

He grimaced at Malfoy. "I do admit that there are aspects of married life that are difficult to deal with-- female clothing in my closet, the bathroom occupied at inconvenient times, and general lack of privacy..." _Not to mention dealing with someone else's incomprehensible feelings. _

"Then why do so at all?"

_Because I couldn't help it. Because I had to save her life. Because I had the dubious fortune to fall desperately in love... _"Because the benefits outweigh the negatives. There's a lot to be said for the satisfaction of regular sex, and the life of a Hogwarts teacher is practically monastic. With all the restrictions placed on us, finding carnal diversion is difficult, not to mention extremely time consuming. I used to keep a woman in Hogsmead years ago but that got to be rather a bore after a while since I couldn't keep a proper eye on her. It turned out I wasn't the only one keeping her!"

He sighed. "No, Lucius. Despite the intrusions into my privacy, having the sexual convenience of a wife is quite pleasant. And it isn't as of it were a conventional marriage."

Lucius laughed at that. Snape had been thinking of traditional pureblood marriages with their dowries, bride-prices, prenuptial agreements, and armies of nosy, domineering in laws who presumed to have claims. He was also thinking that since Hermione was a student, and not some older, haughty pureblood princess (with impressive financial assets and an entitled attitude to go along with them,) there wouldn't be the perpetual power struggle. Malfoy, of course, misunderstood.

"Well said there, old friend. One needn't treat these Mudblood wives as any more than the broodmares they are. Which leads me to the question of whether the seed you have been so enthusiastically sowing has taken root yet."

"No," Snape answered as casually as he could through clenched teeth. He was seething with fury at the insult to Hermione that Lucius believed he, himself, had made. "Not that I mind, actually. I'm not in a great hurry to produce children since I'm sure they put a damper on one's sex life."

The next question startled him. "Is it possible she's using birth control?"

Snape looked at Lucius in what he hoped was snide, scornful amusement. "If she is, she's a more powerful mage than either you or I. There are wards, Lucius. Powerful ones. There isn't a single potion I know of that is strong enough to break those wards or get around them-- and believe me, I've looked. Since I'm not actually keen on imminent fatherhood, I checked every conceivable potion for possible modifications. There's no way she could be using birth control."

"She could be using _Muggle_ birth control," suggested Malfoy quietly.

"What?" Snape felt slightly distracted. He had no idea Lucius knew about such things. "Doesn't Muggle birth control consist of little gloves placed uncomfortably over the male generative member? Believe me, I'd never agree to that!"

Malfoy laughed again. "Oh, Severus, Severus. Wizards today really should be more knowledgeable about the Muggle world. There are plenty of things Muggle women do to keep themselves from conceiving. They insert things into themselves before they lie with men, or they have semi-permanent devices implanted in their wombs. Has she made any unexplained trips to visit friends or family? Is there any time she could have seen a Muggle healer who could have provided her with such things?"

"Not since I've married her." Snape kept his mind a careful blank, a conscientiously engineered picture of normalcy. While Malfoy had never been a skilled Legillimens, he wasn't taking any chances. This wasn't exactly like dealing with the Darklord but there were disturbing similarities. Why did Lucius care whether Snape got his wife pregnant? Malfoy seemed to think he had a right to pry.

"I'll show you a spell you can use to tell you if she had been infected with one of those in-womb devices, although the most most common method of contraception Muggles use involves pills." He conjured up a picture of a round pill case similar to the one Hermione had. Snape had to remind himself that Malfoy didn't actually know anything, only suspected. And he suspected _Hermione_, not him, though Severus knew if she were ever discovered the consequences might be terrible.

"Check your rooms, Severus. If you see anything that looks like this, take action. These Mudblood bitches are sneaky. Though I'm sure you could find an appropriate way to punish yours... if the need arose."

"Yes. If the need ever arose." This was definitely an alarming development. Since when did Lucius Malfoy have an interest in Muggle medicine or science? Men like him went out of their way to be ignorant of it-- and to display that ignorance as proof of their insular position. _Why _was this proud, hidebound, status-seeking pureblood suddenly changing his tune? And what did it have to do with reproduction? Lucius was the last wizard on Earth Severus thought would ever want half-blood children. After all those questions, it was time for some of his own.

"There's one thing I don't understand, Lucius. Why are you so eager to father children by Muggleborn wives? You've never made it a secret that you despise such offspring. And you already have an heir."

Malfoy suddenly began laughing again and he clapped Severus jovially on the shoulder. "My dear Severus. For a man who can be so terribly deadly, sometimes you're so terribly naive!"

Snape left Malfoy's house in a far from steady state of mind. Contrary to what Malfoy might believe, he wasn't naive. Severus had come to know a great many things over the years-- some of them heinous beyond words. He just didn't want to think about them. He didn't want to think of this potential problem either, but he knew he would certainly have to. He would have to watch carefully and discover anything threatening that might be going on-- no matter how bad it was. Unfortunately, Lucius supplied no further information.


	25. Invitations

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

_**Author's Note: For some reason, when I started this chapter, I had a craving for lemons. I have no idea why.. though I suppose all that balmy spring weather outside might have something to do with it. Lemons, however, were definitely on my mind when I was writing and it shows.**_

_**But lest any randy reader get her hopes up, I remind you that under the rules of this site , graphic sex and/or violence are expressly forbidden. The category "M" stands for "Mature" and includes mature themes and situations-- not scenes where intimate body parts and their functions are described in all their glory, or the ridiculous things screamed by characters in the performing of all those functions. Scenes like that are considered "MA" and have to be posted on an ADULT fanfiction site. If found here and reported on, such stories can be deleted. I don't want my story deleted, and I DO have an underage daughter who reads fanfiction... You understand my dilemma.**_

_**Now I am very much like Hermione in that I like to stick to the rules. And I did agree to those rules when I first posted this fic. So... When life hands you lemons, write lemonade. Just about everybody likes lemonade. It's sweet, better than pumpkin juice, and even if it may seem insipid at times, it is safe for the underage to imbibe. Cheers!**_

_**Chapter 25: Invitations **_

Snape eyed his reflection darkly, passing the magic razor over his black, morning stubble. He always looked his worst in the morning, though why that should be, when he was no longer up half the night spying, he didn't know. He swiped at some whiskers under his nose and frowned. That hideous proboscis seemed to get bigger every year! One's nose supposedly became larger with age, but how big could his get? Severus wasn't actually old... He hated to think what he would look like when he was.

He looked bad enough now, he thought sourly, as he finished the last of his shaving. He had never been attractive in any conventional sense, but time had only made things worse. The harshness of his features seemed to have only intensified over the years. His odd, down-slanting eyes had become sunken. His skin looked haggard. Lines and crow's feet were beginning to appear, and his hair was thin and limp. Well, his hair _had _always been limp... He should be thankful he wasn't also bald.

Mundane things like his appearance never used to bother him... much. In his youth, Snape had had far more important concerns. There was the struggle for survival at home, his burning quest for knowledge, the desperate game he played with the school bullies, and the trouble that came later when he had taken the dark mark. And he had never lacked for female bed companions no matter how he looked.

Of course he had hated the obvious comparison between himself and the Potter/Black pair. Those two had possessed enough charm between them to have Gryffindor voted "Handsomest Stud House" three years straight! It had burned that his enemies outshone him so effortlessly in that regard-- _through no real merit of their own! _And Hermione wondered why he questioned the existence of God... Life was full of habitual, random unfairness. _James and Sirius had no problem being loved, where as he... _

And Harry was a picture of his father's good looks, though without his father's poise. Good thing for that too. Besides having his mother's eyes, Potter's slightly guarded, reticent manner was the only thing that kept him from driving Snape over the edge, especially when he saw the boy with that red-headed Weasley chit. It might have been James all over again with Lilly, showing off his success, pointing out to everyone that he had something Snape lacked. Pointing out by comparison that Snape was a loser.

But, of course, it wasn't like that at all. Harry wasn't James. He was a completely different person, and Ginevra Weasley was certainly no Lilly. Snape was very thankful Sirius Black didn't have progeny at Hogwarts too. It really would have been too much to bear. An ironic thought suddenly occurred to him. For all James' and Sirius' cruel, swaggering success as boys, there was little to show for it now. Both were dead and only one had left a child-- a child who grew up not knowing him. He supposed it was poetic justice of a sort.

Well at least in Harry's time, Slytherin house had a specimen stud in Draco Malfoy. That boy was more than just the image of his father. He had the best combined features of both his handsome parents. He also wasn't the monster Lucius was-- not that he wasn't trying to be. Severus knew his godson revered his father and imitated his haughty, overbearing manner whenever he could. But it was just an act. Deep down, Draco didn't have the stuff out of which successful monsters were made. He only craved attention. Lucius had never needed attention. He had only wanted power..

There was something going on with Lucius, something seriously strange, and Snape had no idea what it was. Why was he marrying Muggleborn women, purposely getting them pregnant, and researching Muggle birth control methods? Severus had believed Malfoy's first unfortunate bride had died of foul play. But could it have been accidental? Could she have really died from pregnancy complications as so many other witches did? Heartless though it was, he could only wait on the fate of Malfoy's _next_ victim, because short of asking him outright, there was no other way to learn the truth.

Which led to the next perplexing question. Why couldn't he get through Malfoy's wards? Lucius was a powerful wizard, but he had always been lazy. Snape, who hadn't been pampered, had worked harder with his magic and had grown stronger because of it. Under Malfoy's tutelage, Severus had striven to match and surpass him. By the time Snape had turned traitor to the Dark lord, he had long since learned how to get by any barrier Lucius could put up. It had been one of his jobs as a spy. Now he couldn't pass any of Malfoy's wards at all, and he really should have still been able to do so.

It was as though there were walls of iron around the Malfoy estate, magic of an alien feel to what the man normally used. That odd taint was woven all through the perimeter wards, as well as the seals on the gates, doors, and windows. It permeated the limited interior space Snape had been allowed in when he had visited Malfoy and drunk his wine. Why had Lucius' magic changed? _How_ had he changed it?

Malfoy was as power-mad as wizards came, but the known methods for dramatically boosting one's power the way Lucius had seemed to have done, were all predominantly dark and, therefore, illegal. Snape wanted to know what illegality Malfoy was practicing but he would have to _SEE _what the man was up to to collect evidence-- and he couldn't do that without getting through those wards. The other method, slow infiltration by renewing their friendship, he found distasteful. But what, if anything else, could he do?

Finishing his shave, Snape peered again at his reflection with a rueful grimace. How irritating that Malfoy seemed to have aged so well! Years of soft living worked wonders, he supposed. Lucius was about five years older than he was, but it was Severus who looked the elder by at least fifteen. Malfoy appeared to have not aged a day over thirty. His skin was smooth and firm, with a rosy tinge beneath its pallor. His hair was lustrous. There were no crow's feet or lines about his eyes or mouth, and he was the picture of vigorous health and vitality.

Snape had heard of Muggles undergoing elaborate facial treatments, or even surgeries, to fool the clock of nature, and there were recipes for such things in the Wizard world as well. He wondered what fortune Lucius had paid, and what combination of treatments he had suffered to keep him so dazzlingly handsome. Again, it wasn't fair. Beauty owed those unfortunates who lacked it the compensation at least of fading with time. Standing next to Lucius made Severus feel even more ancient and hideous, just as the sumptuous Malfoy house made Snape's once comfortable dungeon seem desolate.

He glanced over at Hermione, herself a picture of blooming youth, carelessly pulling her lush hair into what she termed a "messy bun" and eying the results perfunctorily in the mirror. How beautiful she was! How absolutely breathtaking-- not only for her pretty features, but for her unconscious grace, and the disregard she seemed to have for her appearance as she finished quickly with her hair to turn to the morning mail. Only someone well assured of their good looks would take so little effort with them.

The fact that Hermione didn't spend hours staring at her face, looking for imperfections that didn't exist, or applying enhancing products that she didn't need, pleased Severus. His wife obviously placed value on more important things-- matters of the mind or possibly soul. Her brilliance was enchanting. The academic discussions he had had with her recently had been stimulating. She had beauty and brains in one luscious package... and here she was stuck with an ugly old rotter like him. Obviously it wasn't only his life that was unfair.

Studying her philosophically, he supposed not every man would consider her lovely. It was strange how men's tastes varied. He knew his wife's looks were not quite the conventional standard for beauty, but then he had always found those standards constricting. The average specimen deemed most desirable had usually looked boring and insipid to him-- or too much of a stereotype. So many of those famous beauties looked very much alike. And perhaps that was all part of their charm. Perhaps they were all interchangeable... and somewhat disposable as well.

Hermione, however, was unique. From her tumbled cascade of riotous curls, to her sweet serious mouth now frowning slightly over something she read, there was no one like her. He found every feature precious-- the curve of her cheeks, the shape of her eyes, even the gentle little cleft-like indentation of her upper lip. At that very moment she was sucking on her lower lip, concerned over something in one of her letters. Snape wanted to suck on her lower lip too-- and the rest of her as well...

Never, ever, had Severus wanted a woman the way he wanted Hermione. Women he had always been able to have. There had never been any real shortage of them-- from the "good" girls who had come to him in secret, to the bad girls shamelessly eager to seduce him. Sex had been a sport when he was younger-- a sport, unlike Quiddich and broom riding-- that he was good at. He had practiced it because he _could, _not only because it was fun. It gave him a way to prove himself.

Sex had given Snape a taste of power beyond magic. It had given him a chance to be something other than the ugly, bookish, pathetic loser James and Sirius went out of their way to make him look. When he was practicing his "sport" he felt desired, valued. And in those all too brief moments of passion, when his partners were being especially appreciative, the closeness had sometimes felt like love...

But of course it wasn't love. Those "good girls" at school had been only using him. He was an adventure, a way to gain experience, a chance to rebel. No one wanted him as person. No girl wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him, or appear at one of the school parties or balls hanging proudly on his arm. He was good for a clandestine roll in the hay, but never as soul-mate material.

That really hadn't bothered him back then, possibly because he hadn't then wanted to _be _anyone's soul-mate. He had had things to do, an agenda to accomplish, lots of scores to settle. He also hadn't found anyone of soul-mate caliber suitable for _him-- _at least not among the insipid "nice girls" or any of the jaded females who joined death eater ranks or were camp followers to them. Simple sex had been good enough for him at the time. He had done it for sheer animal satisfaction before moving carelessly on to more important matters.

How different when one was in love! Snape had deluded himself for years into thinking he didn't need love and didn't want it, but of course that wasn't true. Who _didn't _want to be loved? Poisoned experience, however, had taught him that the possibilities in his case were so negligible as to be nonexistent. He had never dreamed he would find someone whose love he would truly want, and certainly not that she would be one of his students-- a Gryffindor student and Potter's friend besides.

Yet it had happened. Despite his best intentions, he had found himself more and more attracted to sweet, serious Hermione Granger. There were so many ways that she was like him-- in her fierce intelligence, endless curiosity, and in her strength. He had come to realize that here at last was someone with the potential to be his soul-mate-- providing, of course, she did the impossible and fell in love with him... Naturally, when the Marriage Law had given him an opportunity, he had taken her.

And the sex had been more than satisfying. Severus found that "love-making" differed profoundly from any of his past conquests. He wanted to please Hermione more than any lover he had ever had, and each time he took her, evidence of her pleasure melted something frozen inside him. Snape hadn't known he was capable of such tenderness, but apparently it had been there all along, latent within him. But such emotions frightened him.

Feelings like these made him vulnerable, and they encouraged deeper yearnings that made him more vulnerable still. Because of that, dealing with his wife had led him into a sort of terrible dance where he turned alternately hot and cold-- acting gentle, almost kind, one moment, and then harsh and withdrawn the next. He wavered from closeness to distance, friendliness to irritability, his moodiness aggravated by the ghosts still haunting him from the past. The only successful constant in his marriage _was_ the sex. It was the only way he could safely express himself to Hermione, the only way he could show her his love without exposing his heart to harm.

Because the physical was something Snape was good at, he could give his wife love under the disguise of lust and have no worries at all that he would betray himself. Hermione had come to him innocent. She hadn't the experience to tell passionate love from animal lust since she had never known any other man but him. And when he sparked a response from her, when she enjoyed his attentions, it was the closest he came to having her love. Every time he aroused her it gratified him. Every time her arms tightened around him, or she uttered sounds born in rapture, it made him feel-- for a moment-- that she wanted him, needed him, and needed only him... It was a delusion akin to a drug.

At that moment, Hermione was perusing a letter with a thoughtful expression, her brow furrowed in mystification. Severus wondered what she found so puzzling and who had sent her the letter. He also wondered if it was Victor Krum, who irritatingly _still _saw fit to write to her even though he knew she was married... but he decided not to inquire, however, since that would only lead to a fight. Hermione had pen-pals from all over the world. His jealousy would only make him appear stupid.

He continued to gaze at her thoughtful face. Curiously, her serious expression seemed more sexy to him than her smile. Anyone could smile, but not everyone could think deeply, or would care enough to do so. Severus suddenly wanted her and he swiftly calculated the time. By some trick of serendipity, neither he nor his wife had a class for another hour-- which was perfect. He could do a lot in an hour...

Snape walked over to her. She was all fresh and dewy from her morning shower and her clean smell was far more arousing to him than any exotic perfume. Hermione had got up and was packing books and letters into her bag when he pulled her to him. She looked up in surprise and made as if to speak, but he took her face into his hands and proceeded to kiss her, caressing her mouth sensually and sucking gently on her lower lip just as he had wanted to only minutes before.

"You smell good enough to eat," he murmured in her ear, tickling her earlobe with his teeth. She jumped an little when he did that and Severus couldn't help chuckling under his breath.

"We have classes this morning!" she almost squealed.

"No. Not for an hour we don't. That gives us plenty of time."

"But I'll have to shower all over again!" Hermione sounded a little indignant, but he noticed she wasn't really pushing him away so her protest was essentially empty. He chuckled again savoring victory.

"Oh, I'm very sure that you will," he replied softly.

She blushed a charming red and made a half-hearted attempt to withdraw.

"I was going to go to the library. I wasn't finished with my letters..."

He kissed her again, whispering pleasantly against her skin, "The library isn't going to disappear. It will still be there later, and so will your letters."

"The bed will be there later too! Why don't we wait till tonight?"

"No, no, no, Hermione," he chided teasingly, his lips playing with hers again, "You'll just hide behind a book again, like you always do, and keep me waiting till midnight! So provoking it is too. Late hours aren't good for me. Besides, I have rounds tonight, which will definitely get in the way of anything _meaningful_ I wish to do with you..." He let his hands wander to places they would do the most good. Hermione's eyes dilated.

"But right before class?" she protested feebly.

"Everyone will no doubt wonder why you're smiling..."

He maneuvered her relentlessly to the bed, smirking himself at her scandalized expression. It was the face of a child doing something she thought wicked... something thrillingly wicked. He wasn't going to disappoint her. Snape undressed her slowly and deliberately, fingers and lips lingering over each newly exposed area, feeling her breath quicken and her body heat rise.

By the time her robes were a puddle on the floor, all her reserve seemed to have melted away as well. She climbed willingly onto the bed to wait for him, lying invitingly like a vanquished angel, white limbs gleaming against dark satin sheets, her abundant hair a curly halo on his pillow. S_weet Merlin she was exquisite! All his own, and a feast for the senses... _He was only a moment behind her.

Morning passion had always seemed more poignant to him, perhaps because it was less conventional. Intimacy was meant to be hidden, after all-- tucked away into the least desirable hours of the day, relegated to darkness, and performed by tired people as very the last thing they did. To engage in it during waking hours, when presumably one had important things to do, seemed audaciously decadent. Doing it in daylight, when people one knew were up and about, led to a feeling of sinful vulnerability.

Severus enjoyed making Hermione feel vulnerable. He loved putting her under his control, bending her to his will, and making her enjoy it. When she gave in to him, it appeared she was actually willing, that she truly wanted _him_, and him alone. Snape savored that moment of surrender, surrender only complete if it ended in passion. And it would end in passion. He would make very sure of that...

Hands and lips played her like an instrument, creating symphonies of desire in her senses. He rejoiced in the feel of her, in the evidence of her growing hunger, the sounds she made, the way she moved, and the patern of her urgent, clutching hands as he proceeded to make his conquest. Every inch of him flamed with the sensation of taking her, while his heart reveled in her wild, rising delight. In moments like these she was his and his alone. Unfortunately, such moments were all too brief.

After their quick little storm of passion, Hermione lay silently a few moments. Then she jumped up and hurried into the shower. Severus didn't know if she looked so embarrassed because she just had sex with him, just had sex in the morning, or just had sex minutes before class and had to rush to get ready. He hoped it was the later. He arose himself, performed a cleansing charm, and put on fresh robes while feeling pleasantly satisfied, and a little guilty...

It had been rather wicked after all. How many teachers got to shag a pretty student right before class? Or enjoy it so much? He wondered if it was the implied broken taboos that made Hermione's response at unconventional times so deliciously powerful. This morning's experience had been more than usually good.

Hermione sped out of the bathroom, dripping water as she went. Swiftly she threw on some robes, dried her hair with her wand (frizzing it out even more than usual,) and shoveled all her books and papers into her satchel to run to class. She shot Snape a rather snarky look.

"Next time, Severus, remember where _my _classes _ARE! _I have to run to the fourth floor! YOU get to stay in the dungeons. It isn't fair."

"Who said life was fair? But I'll do my best to remember... _next time." _

She uttered a growl of exasperation before rushing out the door, and Snape couldn't help chuckling. She'd probably make it on time. And if she didn't, he'd see about having her detention assigned to him...

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione found it difficult to concentrate in class that morning. Her brain felt as flustered and disoriented as her body felt treacherously relaxed and satisfied. It was hard to keep her mind on the lesson. Thankfully, this was only History of Magic, which she already knew most of anyway. Binns usually taught straight from the book, and notes were largely superficial. But she pretended to take notes anyway. Harry and Ron were sitting next to her (Harry between her and Ron) and she wanted to appear normal. She didn't want anyone to think there was something wrong with her.

There wasn't anything really wrong with her. Everything was fine. Hermione was only... well, she didn't know exactly what. How would any normal, intelligent student feel who had just been seduced... only an hour before... _by_ _a teacher... that she was married to? _And because she WAS married to him, there supposedly was no real harm in it. It was presumably normal. Married people had sex after all.

But did they do it in the morning, right before class, to the point where she had to rush to get ready and run down the hall so she wouldn't be late? Would people be able to tell? Could they see it in her face? _Hey! I just had sex... really, really GOOD sex... with Professor Snape! That's why I was late... _Surely something had to show. And why should it bother her if it did? Did she really care what people thought? Well... maybe she did. Perhaps it was only that _she _felt strange.

Normally she kept what she did with Severus compartmentalized and relegated to "after hours" status. That way it seemed rather distant when she mixed with the rest of the school. But now, with the afterglow fairly screaming itself (or so she felt) on her face, Hermione felt that the two worlds she had worked to keep separate were colliding. It was a strange ending to a morning that had started rather oddly anyway because of a curious letter.

Before the owl post came, events had proceeded according to habit. She had gone through her normal routine of bathing and dressing, quickly pulling her hair up off her face to keep it out of the way. Hermione usually took the least amount of time possible with her personal care, preferring to spend precious morning minutes reading or going over her day's schedule.

Spending hours in front of a mirror had always seemed ludicrous to her. When she had lived in the dormitory, it had been extremely irritating to watch girls like Lavender and Parvati waste amazing amounts of time primping or helping each other primp. Why spend all day on one's face? But then, of course, they could justify it. They were pretty and she wasn't. For those lacking beauty, vanity was stupid and useless. In her early life it had never been encouraged.

_"What an odd child that Hermione. Too bad she isn't pretty."_

_"She may never have looks, that one. But they say she's quite brainy. Surely she'll_

_be a success."_

_"Am I pretty, Mum?"_

_"Pretty is as pretty does, dear. Look! You came in first in your class!"_

_"Dad, am I pretty?"_

_"Don't worry over silly things like looks, Luv. Those things don't last. It's what _

_you do, what you accomplish, that really matters."_

Of course she wasn't pretty.

As she finished securing her hair, she caught the reflection of Severus gazing darkly at himself as he shaved in his own mirror. He seemed to be giving himself the sort of nasty stare he favored unruly students with and Hermione wondered at it. Was he angry at himself, or was he displeased at his reflection? She doubted it was that. He had never seemed particularly bothered by it before.

Men didn't seem to care about their looks the way that women did. They didn't have to, after all. Men weren't judged on their appearance. Women had to be pretty in order to be considered desirable or worthwhile, and plain girls, no matter how smart, were always somehow second class. In contrast, men just had to be successful (and possibly rich) with a passable personality. They didn't have to look good. Or did they? She recalled suddenly some of the awful things students said about her husband-- cruel remarks about his appearance. Maybe such unfair judgments were universal after all.

For a moment she considered her husband's features critically. No matter what people said about him, Severus wasn't ugly-- homely, yes, but not ugly. And what if he was? A man was worth more than his face, wasn't he? And his worst feature, the one everyone seemed fixated on-- his nose—wasn't really so bad. So it was big. Better too big than too small! Lots of men had odd, distinguishing features. Hermione often thought these gave their faces character, and made them stand out from all the look-a-like people the general public seemed to prefer. She thought these people looked interesting.

Hermione didn't really mind Snape's nose. It seemed to fit the rest of him-- the long, odd face, his deep set down-slanting eyes, the high cheekbones, and his thin but expressive mouth. Severus was unique. No one else looked anything like him, and to change him would make him someone other than who he was. It was only his _behavior_ that sometimes made him seem ugly-- when he was acting unreasonably nasty, forbidding, or snide. Apart from that, he was often rather fascinating.

It was the expressions that played across Snape's lean, hawk-like features that made him so fascinating. The changes were subtle-- a lift of the eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, or a shift of gleam in dark, agate eyes... It was truly amazing how his look could vary, and how suddenly it could do so. Snape could change from terrifying one minute to sexually compelling the next. And that voice of his didn't help. When angry, the sound was a viper's hiss, but when amorous that velvet voice could melt steel...

Too bad he rarely smiled. Whenever he did it was an almost-smile, like a hinge to rusty to ever quite open all the way. No smile reached his eyes. Hermione wondered if it was the weight of his past that kept him so bleak and sober, or if it was something else-- perhaps a control issue. Perhaps Severus just couldn't trust anyone enough to relax around them, or maybe it was _himself _he didn't trust. She wished he would come to trust her, to smile or laugh around her. The closest he ever came to it was when he was teasing her... or when he wanted sex.

The owl post had arrived then and Hermione had seen the letter. There were a lot of letters for her that morning-- one from a pen-pal in Peru, one from another in Spain, one from Victor Krum, and one from an unknown party. She had put Victor's aside, glancing covertly at Snape as she did so. There was no reason she couldn't still correspond with Victor. They were friends. And he was engaged to a pretty Ukrainian girl so he _certainly _had no designs on Hermione! Still, maddeningly, Severus seemed to find his letters inappropriate... She picked up the odd letter and opened it. It was from a Mrs. Athena Carr.

**Dear Hermione Granger,**

**We have never met, but I need to confer with you privately as soon as possible. **

**You were a school friend of my late sister Jeanine who married that wizard Malfoy. **

**My sister mentioned you before she died, and I want to give you some of her old **

**school books and magical things. Could I meet with you at the earliest possible time, **

**in NORMAL London, to arrange the details? **

**Sincerely,**

**Athena Carr**

Hermione frowned a little. Of course she would take the books, but why couldn't this Athena Carr just send them to her? And why _privately_ at the "earliest possible time?" What was the hurry? Or the secrecy? The whole thing was extremely odd... and tragic. Maybe this woman was embarrassed as well as grieved by what happened to her poor sister. It looked as though the family wanted to get rid of the memory of her magic as fast as they possibly could.

The sudden comparison with her own life had hit Hermione painfully. The Granger family would probably have done the same, and she felt another stab of sadness over the gulf between worlds... and the loss. The downside of being Muggleborn was the eventual family estrangement, as well as coping with the longstanding magical prejudices. What Hermione lived with day to day, poor Jeanine had died of, and now even her relatives wanted to divest themselves of her memory. All because of magic.

But perhaps she needed to be charitable. This poor Mrs. Carr was a Muggle, and she probably had no idea how to deal with the Wizarding World. How would she know how to bulk-ship the wizard way? She might even be afraid of some of the magical items, so no wonder she wanted them gone as fast as possible! Just using owl post was probably a stretch, and Hermione regretted that Hogwarts wasn't connected to Muggle telephone or mail service. _It really would help Muggleborns stay connected!_

Of course she would meet with this woman to pick up the things. The Easter Holidays might be a good time. And perhaps she could give her poor friend a nice legacy by donating the used spell books to needy Muggleborn students. Hermione straightened with determination. She could take a collection and start a foundation-- the "Jeanine _Malfoy _Muggleborn Help Foundation." That sounded real good! And it would show the Malfoys and that stupid Ministry where their thoughtless, evil actions had led...

That was the moment the morning went out of control. Hermione had just stood up to pack her book bag when suddenly she had felt the close proximity of another body and she had looked up startled. The body was Severus, of course, and incredibly, he was giving her "The Look." She had immediately stiffened and had drawn breath to speak, but in doing so, had opened her mouth, which had been a mistake... It allowed Snape to use the moment for kissing her-- with expert, lethal effectiveness.

For a second, she hadn't been able to do anything but kiss him back, shivering as his tongue tickled the inside of her mouth, gasping as he sucked tuggingly on her lower lip. Why was he amorous now? It was almost time for class! She had important things to do! Why did he have to be so darn compelling at some of the most inappropriate of times?

Snape's lips had traveled caressingly across her cheek to her temple while his fingers slid ticklingly through her hair. "You smell good enough to eat," he had murmured in a voice that really should have been outlawed, and had given her ear a gentle nip. She had jumped then-- not because it had hurt, but because of the jolt it caused somewhere below her belt.

"We have classes this morning!" She had said in a squeak.

"No, not for an hour, we don't" he had countered in a low, sensual rumble. "We have plenty of time."

"But I'll have to shower all over again!" Hermione couldn't have helped a little indignation.

"Oh, I'm sure you will." The reply had been wicked... and very, very arousing.

Hermione had felt her face flush with heat, heat that had begun to course all through her. "I was going to go to the library," she had protested. "I haven't finished with my letters."

But he had only started kissing her again, his warm breath whispering on her face, "The library isn't going to disappear," he had said between kisses. "It will still be there later, as will your letters."

Of course all her protests had been feeble at best. Snape was going to get what he wanted, and Hermione had always known it. She hadn't really wanted to refuse him anyway. Truth be told, she liked him best when he was amorous and playful rather than stiff and unapproachable. And it was certainly better than any of his darker moods-- moods that could come upon him so quick and unexpectedly. But Hermione hadn't wanted to give in easily. Dignity forbade it.

"The bed will be there later too! Why don't we wait till tonight?"

Snape had then begun assaulting her face with teasing little kisses, kisses intended to drive her mad. "No, no, no, Hermione," he had chided. "You'll just hide behind a book like you always do and keep me waiting till midnight. So provoking it is too." He favored her with a particularly invasive kiss. "Late hours aren't good for me. Besides I have rounds tonight, which would surely get in the way of anything meaningful I might wish to do with you..."

Sure, expert fingers had probed insistently, and she had suddenly felt like melting. _Damn! He knows all my tickle spots! This just isn't fair! _

"But right before class?" How wicked it had all seemed, so dangerously, excitingly out of bounds...

"Everyone will no doubt wonder why you are smiling."

Hermione had let him maneuver her to the bed, all her nerve endings awake, eager, and expectant. He had undressed her slowly, pausing delightfully to kiss each exposed area of her before proceeding to reveal still more. His touch felt so good. There was wild magic in his lips. Even the way his nose tickled her skin as he kissed her was a revelation in arousal. By the time she was completely bare, she had no inhibitions whatsoever. She had climbed onto the bed and lay down to wait for him, thrilling with the shiver of vulnerability that always happened to her before sex.

And he hadn't kept her waiting long. It had taken barely a moment for him to undress, his gaze never leaving her. The look that burned in his dark eyes before he took her had shaken her far more than his touch, and had reached a deep part of her no caress ever could. It was a look that made her want to give herself to him with a bittersweet, aching intensity. _At that moment, and perhaps only for that moment, Hermione knew he saw her as pretty_.

Returning to the present, Hermione bent over her notes, hoping the blush she knew was creeping over her face wouldn't be noticed. The memory of how she had wanted him so badly, simply because it felt so good to be wanted, made her tingle with embarrassment. She had probably made a fool out of herself. But how could she have helped it? All her life she had been the "Plain Jane" that boys never seemed to desire beyond friendship. How badly she had wished to be beautiful and sexy, instead of just smart. It was no wonder that when Snape had stared at her as if she were a goddess of carnal delights, Hermione had lost all control.

Or perhaps it had only been the scandalous hour... Making love in the morning, or at times one really wasn't supposed to (when there wasn't sufficient time anyway) gave the act a wicked urgency. Being ravished straight from the shower, by a man freshly shaved was an experience too. No matter how wild the passion, there was no danger of stubble-burn... She blushed again.

_Oh, I really have to stop thinking about this! _Hermione told herself firmly._ It's only sex, just animal sex... _How in the world did Severus always do this to her? Why was he driving her mad? It was as though he took as much pleasure in making her crazy as he did in using her body. And she knew he didn't love her. It had to be some sort of power thing._ But at least he does want me. He thinks I'm desirable... _

Yes, she thought, It was just sex. But when they were intimate, when they held each other tightly, enjoyed each other so intensely, it was the closest they came to being truly married the way Hermione had always understood marriage. When they were together like that, it was the only time their minds were in accord. They were both thinking the same thing, both striving together for the same end. There wasn't the sense of being present with someone yet still being achingly alone. And for a few minutes at least, Hermione had the delightful feeling of being appreciated-- almost loved.

It was almost the end of the day before Hermione realized she had forgotten to read the rest of her letters, or send out her answers.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus sat in his office correcting yet another pile of badly written, badly spelled, badly researched potions essays. He wondered if next year, when his wife was finally graduated, he might just be allowed to take a sabbatical... He had put in his time. He had paid his dues. Surely he didn't have to be a teacher forever! Few jobs took as much of one's time and effort and gave back so little in return. These essays, for instance. Most of these stupid students didn't even care! Maybe he should consider, however briefly, one of those "contracts" Lucius had said he could get for him.

Not that he wanted to be in debt to Lucius. But it would be a way to get close enough to the man to observe him-- without having to pretend a friendship for him that he no longer felt. And Malfoy would love to think Snape was dependent upon him again. If he played his cards right, acted his part, his former friend might get a little careless... Of course Hermione would be appalled, but she would be very busy with university work. She might not look too closely at what he was doing, or who had recommended a particular job. Besides, even _she _could see he was burning out as a teacher.

Was it his imagination, or were the students getting dumber, or just lazier? What was the use of trying to cram knowledge into minds that didn't want it? He didn't know if it was the downfall of the Dark lord, or perhaps even the Marriage Law that was responsible for this year's bad effort. For some, the lack of danger meant complacency, while for others... why bother with knowledge when the future was already planned? And who among them appreciated Potions? At some magical academies it wasn't even required! Maybe that would be a blessing in disguise. He'd rather have a few students who really wanted to learn than a whole dungeon full of apathetic dunderheads...

Snape wondered what dubious sort of work Malfoy would find for him and if it would be something he'd have the stomach for. Not that Albus would let him, of course. Severus made a nasty red scrawl on a particularly vapid essay and sighed heavily. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Dumbledore would find a way to keep him here. He'd play on his loyalty, his affection for the old man, and his obligation. Albus wouldn't buy the excuse of spy work either. He'd tell him to leave such things to the aurors.

But the Aurors were proving themselves absolutely useless The Wizarding world wasn't looking for danger anymore. People wanted peace, and they deluded themselves that all evil died with the Dark lord. Fudge, and all the other idiots in power, wanted desperately to think that everything was fine. They were all too willing to believe that people like the Malfoys were harmless. And even if they had any suspicions, Snape knew it would never progress very far. The aurors couldn't get past those wards any more that he could. The only means to investigate was to penetrate from within.

He had to get back in that estate. It was the only way. Lucius was up to something, something that might ultimately concerne Hermione. The way he had kept probing into Snape's marital life had raised warnings. And though he had no proof, Severus was positive Lucius was about to kill again. He could feel it. He just _knew._ If he didn't do anything about it, he would be partly responsible. If he just let it go, there might be more horrors on his conscience.

Besides, a little sleuth work, however dangerous, would be a welcome break from correcting bad essays... Snape stabbed his quill into the inkwell again and covered yet another paper with angry red comments. This year's effort was really the worst yet. _Frog livers do NOT get added to the Digestion Potion. Frog Intestines do. _Didn't they pay any attention at all? _And there is a distinct difference between Amaryllis flower and Amaryllis root. _But nice to see the Misses Weasley and Lovegood knew the different uses for powdered stag horn. No doubt his sexy wife had helped them with that...

This morning had been fun... very fun, though he seemed to have embarrassed poor Hermione. She hadn't met his eyes all day. Well, she'd get over it. She had enjoyed their little romp as much as he had. And perhaps that was what was really bothering her, that she could enjoy him so much even though she didn't actually want him. He attacked another essay with a vengeance. Best not to think about that. Best to enjoy what little he could, what little good he could get in life. Snape did wish though that his wife would be more than merely reactive, that she would actually _initiate _sex with him. But he supposed he should be content with what he had-- a reluctant partner who did couple with him when he wished it (most of the time) and who liked it in spite of it all.

A tap sounded on his window and Snape zapped it open to allow in an owl. It was Malfoy's eagle owl and Snape felt a rush of apprehension. Perhaps he'd find a contract offered to him already... But it wasn't a contract. It was an invitation. He and his wife were invited to a grand ball in celebration of Malfoy's recent marriage. Well here at least was something he could accept without any long term commitments. And it would get him into that house again... he picked up his quill and scratched out an affirmative reply.


	26. Not No Way, Not No How

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 26: **_**Not No Way, Not No How **_

"I'm not going." Hermione's voice was righteously mutinous.

"Yes. You are." Snape's was implacable.

"Oh no, I'm not!"

Her pitch had raised significantly, and Severus' hands, hidden in the sleeves of his robes, twitched as he kept his tone carefully calm. Unlike Slytherin anger which could smolder indefinitely with cold, calculating purpose, Gryffindor rage was hot, flaring up quickly yet just as quickly dying down. If the flames weren't fed they waned all the sooner. It _was_ possible to bring her around to the very position for which she was now opposed (and look superior in the process) but that process was tedious. Severus hadn't expected this violent a reaction from her-- and now, he supposed, he really should have. He set his teeth and dug deep for patience, but her belligerent attitude pricked him in the raw.

"I am going, therefore _you _are going. It's that simple," he interposed quietly.

"Bollocks!"

"Language, child," he growled. "I am, after all, a teacher." He sent her a stern, warning look but Hermione refused to be warned-- or to back down. She continued to glare at him.

"I'm your wife, Severus, not your slave!" she countered icily. "And I'm not a child either!"

"Really? Well, one would never know it by observing you, now would they? Especially when, at this moment, you're acting like a two year old. Perhaps I should spank you and put you to bed."

Severus watched his wife swell with furious outrage. She huffed, squared off at him, fists on hips, and stamped her foot-- acting very much like the toddler in the "terrible two's" he had just compared her with. If Snape hadn't been seriously irritated at that moment he might have laughed. Gryffindor passion, noble though it could be at times, certainly had its comical side.

"I AM NOT A CHILD!" she shouted. "I've been of age for over a year! And speaking of putting me to bed," she added. "If I _were _still a child, I wouldn't be sleeping in YOUR bed and doing... the things we do in it."

It was too perfect an opening and Snape couldn't resist. "Call it sex, Hermione," he put in snidely, knowing full well it would steam her all the more. "Adults aren't afraid to say the word."

"Fine, then. SEX! You don't have SEX with a child-- at least not and still teach at this school! If you have SEX with me, you can't keep calling me a child. I am your WIFE!"

"_Exactly," _he almost purred.

Severus smirked slightly, letting his eyes travel over her in a hooded, suggestive way and deepening the smirk a little when his wife's face reddened even more than before. No need for legillimency to guess what popped up in her mind, and good for it! Snape wanted her to remember what it felt like to surrender to him-- and how much she thoroughly enjoyed it... It would help to put their positions in proper perspective. She needed to recall who was boss.

"Yes, Hermione. You ARE my wife, and a wife has duties and obligations-- one of them being to follow her husband wherever he needs or wishes to go. As a good and proper wife, you should do what your duty demands-- without complaint or question."

Her reaction to that was livid and shrill.

"I'm not supposed to question? When you want to take me to the _Malfoy House?_ Anyone alive would question that!"

Snape rolled his eyes. This was starting to get old. "It's a _party_, wife... not a Dark Revel!"

"Well it might as well be a Dark Revel, _husband! _This is Malfoy Manor we're talking about. There'll be deatheaters all over the place, whooping it up and having a wonderful time! I'm sure they'll be _really_ be happy to see ME. Don't you think it might be just a _teensy weensy_ bit dangerous?"

"Hardly," he scoffed with a snort. "In all actuality, my dear childish bride, I doubt any deatheaters will be there at all. The guests will consist of the rich, powerful, and presently influential. Even if Lucius wanted his nefarious associates mingling with the Beautiful People, they wouldn't come. Deatheaters, former or otherwise, do not congregate in public."

"Oh? Well why not? If they've already managed to weasel out of Azkeban, why shouldn't they congregate every chance they get and flaunt it in our faces?"

Severus brushed some imaginary dust off his robes. "Mutual distrust, of course. They all suspect each other of treason, and being a traitor myself I acknowledge their good sense. This party is simply for Lucius to show off his connections. It's for Ministry Cronies, Pure Blooded snobs, Old Gold, and Entrepreneurial hot shots. Fudge will likely be there."

Unfortunately, that had been the wrong thing to say and Hermione flared afresh.. "All the more reason to count _me_ out! I don't want to be anywhere NEAR Fudge! He's the reason for all this trouble in the first place! And it's not like I'd fit in at this high-brow party, or have anything to _say _to these important people. They won't want me and they certainly won't miss me if I'm not there. **I'm not going.**"

Snape was starting to become seriously peeved. "As I told you before, staying home is not an option," he fumed. "Not only are you being childish, Hermione, you're being RIDICULOUS!"

"I'm not being being ridiculous, Severus, YOU are! You think you can just force me, don't you? You really think you can just bark orders and that's all there is to it! You think my feelings and opinions don't count for anything! Well I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, should I?" Her ending tone was snide.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" He had the sense that things were getting out of hand but he didn't seem to be able to do anything about it.

"You just love to point out my _duties _as wife, but what about YOUR obligations as a husband? Believe it or not, a wife is a _partner, _an EQUAL, not a minion! My feelings DO count. I know wizard culture is unbelievably backward Severus, but you don't own me!"

"You are absolutely out of your head!" he shouted, "This has nothing to do with ownership, one-upsmanship, alpha male dominance, or any other silly, _stupid_ idea floating about in your normally intelligent mind! This has to do with etiquette and propriety, with the rules of civilization! We have both been invited, therefore we BOTH must attend. A wife's place is at her husband's side. I cannot attend without you."

Hermione was beyond incensed. "How can you mention "Propriety" and Malfoy in the same sentence? Why do you WANT to go to this party in the first place? We should be staying away from those people not rubbing shoulders with them! I just can't believe this! How can you drag me along to the Malfoys knowing what they are and how I feel about them? How can you do this to me? _What kind of a monster are you?" _

At the word "monster" Severus saw red. Hot, furious energy surged and trembled through every one of his limbs, and before he knew what he was doing, he had advanced on his wife with menacing intent. He saw her eyes widen in alarm as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her against a nearby wall, a flash of real fear flaming up in her defiant eyes. That look of fear almost choked him.

He made a supreme effort to control himself, and he knew she recognized it as such, but his soul still screamed in despair. _Why did he always end up hurting her when he loved her so much? _Why couldn't he act the way he wanted instead of losing his temper and scaring her? Why couldn't he charm his wife instead of fighting with her? What was wrong with him? Maybe he was a monster after all.

For a moment he did nothing but look at her, intense black eyes meeting frightened brown ones-- brown eyes still stubbornly accusing. One one level, Snape was glad she wasn't cowering. That was the last thing he wanted. _He wanted her to love him. _But there was precious little chance of that now-- or ever. He was always going to be out in the cold as far as love and Hermione were concerned. Sadness pervaded anger like a poisoned, inky cloud and he was aware that his arms were shaking. Slowly, he loosened his tight hold of her and took a cleansing breath.

"It is necessary that we both attend this party, Hermione," he said in a level, quiet voice.

"Malfoy's a murderer," she whispered. "He murdered my friend."

"I know that."

"He murdered his own _children!" _she spat, tears coming into her eyes the way they often did when she was angry.

"You don't need to tell me what I already know."

"_And you don't even CARE?_" her anger flashed again. "He murdered my friend and you actually expect me to go to his _party?" _

Snape moved in closer to her so that their faces were barely inches apart. He forced his voice into the soft, menacing hiss that gave students nightmares and looked again into her accusing eyes. He also said far more than he meant to.

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm attending this party for a purpose? Can you possibly consider that the reasons you've cited for not going are the very reasons why I absolutely_ MUST?_ As you have already pointed out, someone has died and WE are among the very few who are questioning_ how that happened! _If you really cared about your friend you'd want to see her killer brought to justice-- or stopped before he can do it again." 

Hermione looked taken back. "You mean, this is... Order business?"

"Hardly," Snape laughed bitterly, letting go of her and looking away. "Would that it were. The _Order _sees me as paranoid. They won't listen to anything I say when it concerns Malfoy. Old Lucius seems to have charmed the whole Wizarding World with his "changed" behavior and his public displays of cooperation. And the sick reality is that his willingness to marry Muggleborns is seen as proof of _reformation_, not perfidity! The Ministry, of course, has their heads completely up their butts... "

"But I don't understand," she persisted, "If the Order isn't investigating, why are you--"

"Lucius is going to kill again and it's only a matter of time." He turned back to face her. "_I have to get into that house, Hermione!_ He's strengthened his wards so I can't get past them by magic. The only way to find out anything at all about what he is or isn't doing, unfortunately, is to pretend friendship-- to ingratiate myself with him. This party is the perfect opportunity."

"Why didn't you say something?" Her voice was small. It also contained a sullen note of accusation.

"Because, Hermione, you didn't need to know! You are a student, not an auror-- and you're certainly no spy. Besides, the more innocent you are, the safer we both remain. Don't think my "old friend" won't notice if you are looking about his household suspiciously."

"What are you looking for when you get there?" Again, her persistent curiosity-- curiosity that could get her killed...

"I don't honestly know, and if I did, I wouldn't share it with you. YOU are not to go 'sleuthing!' The reason you are coming along is to make this look like a social visit. If I could keep you home, believe me I would! Your official job is to mingle graciously with the female guests and look attractive by my side." He paused. "Which, by the way, will entail the purchase of new robes. I'll have Tonks accompany you to Diagon Alley this next weekend to make the purchase."

For some reason, Hermione bristled at that. "Why? What's wrong with the robes I have? I think what I have should be good enough for the Malfoys!"

"You need dress robes, child."

"I _have_ dress robes," she said stubbornly.

"No," he countered, "You have the gown you wore to the Yule Ball four years ago, not robes appropriate to the occasion."

"Well what's wrong with that? I only wore that dress once, so it's still perfectly good! Who cares if I wore it before? What the hell's the point?"

Snape had reached the end of his patience. He had no idea why his wife was fighting him. It seemed she would fight him over everything today.

"The point is that you were fourteen years old when you wore those robes, and they were suited to your age and station. As you have stated earlier-- _with vehemence-- _you no longer a child. What looked well enough on a schoolgirl of fourteen will look ridiculous on a mature married woman. You need something new."

"I'll alter it." She sounded pig-headed enough for Snape to lose it again.

"What is the matter with you woman? I'm buying you _clothes!_ Woman are supposed to LOVE new clothes. Fighting me about this, and everything else you've done today, is absolutely _stupid! _Now you will go to a robe shop and buy some robes. Buy exactly what I tell you to buy-- something festive enough for a grand reception and suitable to your married status."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with my _status_ right now," she grumbled.

"Well, too bad," he sneered. "You're stuck in it as much as I am!"

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. "FINE! I'll get some robes. _Appropriate _robes! And while I'm at it, I'll get the most expensive ones I can find!" 

"Good!"

She turned around and flounced out the door, slamming it behind her, and Severus slumped down into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. He didn't see how this could possibly have gone any worse.

Why did Hermione have to fight him on everything?, And why was it that confrontations with her-- especially the ones where he "won"-- always seemed to turn out disastrous? Snape loved his wife, cherished her more than she would ever know, but every time she chose to exert her modern notions of independence, he always lost his temper. He supposed he really couldn't help some of that. Severus had been a teacher for seventeen years and was used to giving orders. Hermione still felt like a student to him, and whenever they weren't having sex, he usually found himself treating her that way. It had always seemed to be safer since he had no good role model of "husband" to base his behavior on. _His_ father had been a monster.

He had to admit they didn't fight that often. They didn't communicate often enough to have many fights. But there were always times that his wife asked the wrong questions-- and continued to ask them in the face of his obvious displeasure. There were times when her preconceived notions of how things should be done clashed with his, and vise versa. And Hermione wasn't one to meekly back down when she thought she was right, either. She was a true Gryffindor crusader. There were times that drove him absolutely crazy-- both with anger, and conversely, with desire.

What had most infuriated him was her lack of trust. She had just blithely ascribed wrong motivations for him, and then set herself up in opposition. Why couldn't she have thought first? Did she really think he still wanted to pal up with deatheaters after working so hard to defeat them? Couldn't she have figured out there had to be more to it? Surely she couldn't think he would put her in any real danger! But she _had_ thought that. And then she had reproached him for not apprising her of all his plans when she learned his true motives.

But there were things he couldn't tell her. It was safer for her not to know. Snape could have kicked "Saint" Potter right up his snotty little arse for the pre-marriage conditioning his friendship had given Hermione. Potter had put her into danger again and again-- every blasted year-- and now that was what she was used to. She expected Severus to treat her the same way. Not on his life!

As far as Snape was concerned, _none _of those children should have been adventuring about the castle in their early student years. They should have stayed safely in their dormitories instead of chasing after Sorcerer's Stones, exploring secret chambers, or running around outside after curfew as tempting bait for werewolves. And the _worst _thing they had ever done was that ridiculous, _suicidal_ rescue mission at the Ministry! It had been luck alone that had saved Hermione that night. Had Dolohoff been able to cast his curse correctly, she would have died.

Severus didn't want Hermione involved in any more danger. She may not like it, but he was going to see to it that she stayed out of the thick of things and concentrated on her studies. He was her husband, and husbands took care of their wives. _His_ wife would just have to understand. She would just have to realize that she wasn't a reckless single student anymore; she had an obligation to accept his protection. But how was she going to do that when she thought the worst of him?

The sigh he heaved was bitter. Had he really told her he felt stuck in their marriage? Yes, he had. Severus hadn't meant that the way it sounded. He wanted to convey to her that they were both in the same boat, but he was angry and fired it off as an attacking volley. And his missile had hit its mark. Hermione's tears before she stormed out were of hurt more than anger, and Severus ached with shame over his loss of control.

He had botched it all. There would be no easy way to restore the tenuous camaraderie they had patiently built up between them. There would be nothing now but smoldering silences, accusing glances, and awkwardness. She might even hate him. There would be no more of her spontaneous smiles and thoughtless laughter. And of course, there would be no possibility of willing sex... All because of some stupid, thoughtless words.

That had happened before with Lily. One thoughtless word had brought down their friendship like a mighty tree felled by a whack of a single ax. None of his apologies then had been able to undo what he had done and he didn't think any apologies would cut it now. In matters of the heart, words were potent weapons-- more potent than wands. And he wasn't even sure he'd be able to apologize...

How _could_ he apologize? Besides scaring her for a moment, the only thing he had really done wrong was lose his temper and say that one damning sentence. Everything else still seemed inordinately right to him. He had been right to insist on their going to Malfoy's party, and right to keep Hermione innocent. He certainly had been within his rights to insist on her buying robes!

But if he tried to apologize for one thing, it would bring up all the rest. And then one of them would get angry... which would make the other get angry. And then they'd start shouting again and saying even worse things... He sighed again despairingly. The whole thing looked hopeless.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione stormed out of their quarters and marched furiously up to the seventh floor to the Room of Requirement, intending to scream out her rage and frustration. The door opened easily into a spacious chamber filled with cushions, a large, frilly pink bed, and plenty of ornamental breakables. She stared about her in surprise. The sight of all the fragile glassware displayed invitingly for demolition checked her emotions a little. After all, she hadn't really meant to _smash _anything! She had just wanted to get away, pull herself together, lick her wounds a little, and of course to cry...

The plump, comfortable bed looked very inviting and Hermione collapsed onto it and indulged herself in what her husband would probably call a very childish bout of tears. Well, what of it? At least she wasn't so cold and unfeeling that she couldn't cry. She was human, dammit, and she was a woman. And if Severus was so sure about what women wanted or didn't want _(Women are supposed to LOVE new clothes! What's wrong with you?) _let him understand this!

Oh, why did Severus have to act so damn superior all the time? Why couldn't he have told her what all this was about instead of keeping everything so secret? This whole argument never would have _happened_ if he had just talked to her instead of patronizing her the way he always did! If she had understood what was going on she wouldn't have gotten so angry-- then _he_ wouldn't have gotten so angry... She pounded a nice, cushy pillow in despair. Oh how stupid. Stupid, _stupid, STUPID! _

She didn't want to fight with Severus. If she had to be married to him, she wanted them to get along. It would be awful of they went days without talking to each other, coming and going in dark, withering silence, sleeping stiffly beside each other, perhaps even copulating in a cold, detached, soul-killing way. Severus probably wouldn't care one way or another, but Hermione knew _she _would choke under those conditions. Why did he have to be so cold, so uncaring, so cruel? Why was she so unfortunate to have to be married to him? Surely there couldn't be another man on the face of the earth more nasty, more _hateful, _than Severus Snape!

Except that wasn't really true...

There were plenty of people worse than her husband. Malfoy, for one. At least Snape didn't hurt her. He just treated her like a child. And she did owe her life to him... When she really thought about it, she had to admit that Severus wasn't really_ hateful, _after all. He wasn't evil either. Considering all the things he had done over the years, he was actually a _good_, rather than a bad man-- an anti-hero instead of a villain. He just wasn't nice or kind. Or was he?

It wounded Hermione to think that Severus disliked having her as his wife, that he was merely enduring his duty until the Marriage Law was repealed. _Well, too bad! You're stuck in this as much as I am... _True, she had married him out of necessity, but except during arguments like these, she wasn't miserable in their life together. She respected Severus as a person and even found herself liking him-- even if it seemed he didn't want to be liked.

Hermione knew he didn't hate her. He certainly didn't love her, but there was nothing of hatred in his treatment of her. If anything, he at least seemed to respect her—even like her. And he did things occasionally that were unnecessarily thoughtful. Even during sex, there were quite a lot of things he did routinely that added only to her pleasure, not his, that he certainly didn't have to do. She could ascribe it, of course, to his brand of medieval honor, _noblesse oblige,_ or something-- except it seemed more than just honor. It really did look like kindness.

Oddly, now that Hermione thought of it, Snape had shown her various forms of kindness from the very beginning. He just obviously didn't want to be thought of as kind. Any show of thoughtfulness was always accompanied by stiff words or by strong irony or sarcasm-- except during sex, when it could be disguised as lust. It was as though he was ashamed of being kind... or perhaps frightened by it.

Hermione knew that children from abusive homes were almost always emotionally scarred. One couldn't grow up in an atmosphere of pain and cruelty without being damaged or twisted in some way. There had been poison in Snape's childhood. There were traces of it still in his system. She had seen it wake him in the night, horrified, frantic, grief-stricken and, yes, angry. Who knew what it was that made him afraid to show kindness. And yet... he was kind.

She thought of the scrubbed and scoured atmosphere of Snape Manor. Severus had done that. Heaven knew what he had purged from that house, but that was most definitely what he had done. Everything, the walls, floors, ceilings, and even furniture had been reduced to bare bones and restored. He had scraped, sanded, and even blasted all traces of the past from the place, and he had done it with what looked like the zeal of a convert, a pardoned sinner who had seen the light.

That was the reason for the nondescript look of the house. It was spartan, even puritanical, in decoration because it had been purged. There was an air of penance in the stern formality of the rooms, and he had obliterated all traces of his family as though they had never existed. The only place they still lived was in his mind. _No wonder he had gotten almost crazy when she called him a monster! _Hermione put her head in her hands. She had pushed the worst button he had!

She supposed she should apologize for that. The last thing she wanted to do was to bring back any pain from his past. But it galled her to have to make the first move. She hated, just HATED being ordered around! And she was still angry because he never communicated with her, never told her what he was thinking or planning. She felt insulted that he didn't think her worthy to confide in.

Didn't he realize she could help? She was used to helping, and she was good at it! Harry and Ron had never planned anything without her. For the past eight years she had been right there through all their adventures, and she _knew _she had been part of the reason for Harry's success over Voldemort. She had been needed. She had been important! Surely all that experience had to count for _something?_ She could HELP if only she was allowed to try!

But now she wasn't dealing with Harry and Ron. She was dealing with Severus Snape, and if ever there was a lone wolf, a solitary figure who kept his own council, it was him. Unlike the boys, her cleverness didn't impress him, and there was no way she could ever boss him. Snape was not going to ask for her help, or eagerly wait her opinion with expectant, admiring eyes. Those black eyes of his saw her as a student-- someone to be led by _him_, not the other way around. He would never treat her the way her friends had. He wasn't her friend, but her husband... and he used to be her teacher. To Professor Snape, she probably really did seem like a child.

Hermione sighed and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robes. She supposed her grouchy husband had good reason for not confiding his plans or his suspicions to her. He just couldn't consider a mere student his equal, and he had always been very disapproving of all the things she and her friends had done over the years. And perhaps he had a point.

She sighed again. There had been things she and the boys had done that really hadn't been wise. Storming the Ministry to save Sirius had actually been very stupid. Hermione had _known _it was stupid at the time, but she had gone along with it anyway because she had promised Harry she would help him no matter what. Snape would probably point to that as proof of immaturity-- because she had known something was wrong but had done it anyway. But she had _had to! _

How could she have let Harry go rushing off into danger without trying to help him? That was loyalty, not foolishness! And if Severus hadn't been so nasty to Harry-- and to Sirius too-- Harry could have gone to Snape for help first. Then he wouldn't have felt the need to charge blindly into the Ministry in the dead of night. Things might have turned out so differently. Sirius might still be alive...

But that was circular thinking, and it did no good. Neither Snape, nor Harry, had gone about things in the right way, and they were both so stubborn in their wrongness. It saddened her that she'd never have the camaraderie with her husband that she had once had with her friends. And now she didn't even have them anymore. Harry and Ron had moved on without her and now all she was left with was Snape-- aloof, detached and secretive... who now seemed to regret that he had ever married her. Tears threatened her again.

If only she could have kept her temper. Severus could actually be reasonable in an argument if one argued with him reasonably. He only lost his temper at things like bull-headed obstinacy, blatant stupidity, histrionics, or... if somebody called him a monster.

She should have known better than to say that. Hermione had heard him on that once before. _What sort of a monster do you think I am? _What in the world had made her use his own words against him?

Hermione had seen her point of view as completely righteous, but now she wasn't so sure. Now, looking back, she could see her behavior had possibly been less than reasonable. It was she who had picked the fight, acting angry and accusing from the start. _I'm not going-- not no way, not no how! _She had gotten her back up at the very first mention of the the Malfoy party, and it had never occurred to her simply to ask, "Is there a reason?" Instead she had assumed the worst of her husband. No wonder he was royally peeved.

Of course Snape had been insufferable. He had treated her like a child, threatened her with a spanking, and man-handled her against a wall! If that wasn't unreasonable, she didn't know what was. Hermione had only been obstinate... and belligerent... and... _Oh, hell..._

So they had both acted badly, she only a little less than him. And most of it was only words-- stupid, ridiculous words. Hermione knew that when it came to Snape, his words were always worse than his actions. But words could be weathered. They could be ignored. They could always be redeemed by an apology...

But Snape would never apologize. Not this time, and Hermione knew it. He probably had no idea how much it hurt to be patronized-- to be "taken care of" without regard to her intellect or dignity. This "woman's point of view" wasn't something a man of Snape's age and mindset would easily understand. It would take a lot of time for Severus to see her as other than the student she had always been to him. Perhaps in his mind, he had done nothing wrong. All he would know was that she had insulted his character, hadn't trusted him, and had poked rather hard at his Achilles Heel...

Hermione really didn't want to have to apologize. She felt she was only half wrong, and didn't want to take all the blame for a fight that still hurt. Just the thought of what his face would look like-- all smug and superior-- made her start to feel angry all over again. How stupid would it make her look to if she had to get all humble with him? After that, he'd always expect to win! Each argument, all he would have to do would be make her feel bad and then just wait...

Unless she apologized only a little and stood her ground on everything else... But that could start the fight all over again. Would this just keep getting worse? There had to be a way to do the right thing and still keep her dignity-- though, now that she thought of it, storming out of the dungeons and threatening to squander all her husband's money on dress robes hadn't done her dignity any favors... Either way, things were going to be unpleasant, and would probably stay unpleasant. But from now on, no matter what, she would try to keep her temper! Sadly, with her feelings only slightly assuaged, and no breakables littering the floor, Hermione left the Room of Requirement.

The rest of what should have been a pleasant Saturday dragged slowly on. Lunch picked it's way through the accustomed hour with half-eaten portions and sparse gulps of pumpkin juice before Hermione went to the Library to study. Since hard work had always helped to clear her head, she dutifully tried to immerse herself in an early Transfiguration essay, but she found it difficult to concentrate. Very difficult. Her brain kept playing hide-and-seek with thoughts of Severus.

Every time she tried to hide within the realms of research, again and again the nagging little memories of the morning's quarrel would find her. Again, she would see the look in his eyes when she had called him a monster and see the bleakness there when he had struggled to control himself, to hold his dark emotions in check. _Why did she have to remember that? _Why not the times he was sneering at her, or dismissing her, or ordering her around? Why did she always remember the moment she hurt him? She didn't really want to hurt him. But did he care if he hurt _her_?

At dinner, the lowering sense of something hanging over her persisted. She gamely attempted to make conversation with her friends as she tried to choke down dry, tasteless food. Occasionally she looked up at at the Head Table, at Severus eating with his fellow teachers in apparent nonchalance, and envied him that cool detachment. Once, when she happened to glance his way, she caught him looking at her. When their eyes met, he seemed to stiffen.

Hermione quickly turned her attention back to her plate of barely touched dinner and the people around her. She smiled bravely over at Luna who was deep in a debate over famous Chasers. Luna smiled back at her encouragingly and then suddenly leaned forward to hand her a spinach calzone.

"Try one of these, Hermione. They're really good, and it will help to keep up your strength." She paused as Hermione, not knowing what else to do, took the offering. "And it really doesn't _hurt_ to apologize now and then," she added thoughtfully, "even if the argument isn't all your fault. Sometimes it's the push men need to apologize back. They're such babies, you know."

Hermione just stared at Luna, too shocked to make a reply. _How did she know? _Was it written all over her face? Nobody else seemed to have noticed! But then again, nobody else seemed to notice much at all when it came to the resident know-it-all. It was only Luna, whose large protuberant eyes seemed to penetrate the soul, that ever appeared to actually _see _her.

The exchange seemed to have occurred in surreal sort of a heartbeat. In another second, Luna was somehow back into her Quiddich conversation as though she had never interrupted it. She didn't even look at Hermione... as though she never had. Indeed, the whole incident might have only been a fevered figment of Hermione's imagination except that she _did_ have the calzone... and a warm feeling that somebody cared. Hermione took a perfunctory nibble. It was the first food that had tasted good all day.

How did Luna always seem to know things? She might be a nut who believed in mythical monsters and everything else her tabloid father wrote about, but when it came real insights into people's motives and hearts, she was incredibly uncanny. Hermione felt spooked. Maybe Luna was right. Maybe she should apologize to Severus. She'd feel no peace until she did _something. _She just wasn't sure what...

Later in the dungeon, taught silence reigned over the Snape private study, with latent expectancy hovering in supercharged air. Severus corrected papers in dark detachment, his scritching pen the only sound emanating from his corner. Hermione couldn't even hear his breathing, though the sound of her own was overly loud to her ears.

Presently, the scritching stopped and Hermione heard the tap of the quill as it was put in its stand, the sounds of the ink bottle being carefully stoppered, and the ruffle of parchments methodically being stacked. Her husband was done for the day. If she was going to say anything it would have to be now.

"Severus," she began, and the rustle of the parchments stopped. She cleared her throat. "I just wanted to say... um... that I think I got a little too angry this morning."

There was a pause, and then, "You were uncommonly angry." It was a statement, not an accusation.

Hermione closed her eyes and rushed on. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I'm not the only one who did. You.. you got much too angry too, but... I lost my temper first and I shouldn't have."

She stole a look at him. He was standing like a somber, black statue, the stack of parchments frozen in his hands. Expressions barely perceptible flickered across his inscrutable face, and after a second he seemed to relax a little. For a fleeting instant, Hermione almost thought she saw a flash of relief pass over him, but she had to be dreaming. What she was extremely thankful for was that his expression wasn't cold or sneering.

"I said some things I shouldn't have said," she finished dutifully. "I'm sorry."

With measured movements, Severus put the parchments carefully down. "My own behavior, as you have pointed out," he said softly, "was far from exemplary. I am in no way proud of it."

Hermione relaxed and let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. As far as apologies went, that was quite good for Snape.

"I should have asked you about that party instead of just refusing to go, " she continued sadly. Then she looked up at him. "If I had asked you, would you have told me the reason?"

Severus sighed almost harshly. He sounded exasperated, and very tired. "I don't know, Hermione. Probably not. I know you don't wish to hear this, but there _are_ matters I can't involve in you. You're not my student anymore, but you're still a student, and as a master here at this school, I have an obligation to keep you safe. Yes, you have suffered dangers in the past, and yes, you have fought in a war, but none of those things should have happened to you in the _first place!_ You are not ready to do the work of an auror or a spy. This is one adventure you will not be part of."

"But I could help. I know I could!"

"I don't _want _you to help! I want you to stay safe! You were the one who pointed out to me this morning that a husband has duties. Well, the first is to protect his wife. Like it or not, Hermione, I WILL do that. My investigation of Malfoy is not sanctioned by the Order. I have no back-up. The last thing I'm going to do is drag you into danger with me. This time, Hermione, the closest you're going to come to the action is sipping champagne at the Malfoy Ball." He looked at her somberly. "Now do you think you can you live with that?"

"I suppose I'll have to," she replied, though she felt mutinous. "But I feel so useless, and I used to do so much. I used to be valued."

"You ARE valued-- as a _student_, not as cannon-fodder. There is nothing you can do against Malfoy. He is way out of your league."

Hermione didn't say anything. It hurt to hear Severus tell her that he didn't want her help, that he didn't think she _could_ help-- that she was too young, completely outclassed, a babe in the schoolroom. But then, she had known all along that he would think like that. He was twenty years older than her, and he had been her teacher. He was also a bit of a male chauvinist as well...

"I just wish you would communicate, that you would tell me _something." _

"As I explained once before, I will tell you what I think I _can." _He paused. "Though I probably could have conveyed something more to you when I announced our invitation to Lucius' party. I should have realized how apprehensive and how angry you would have been, and told you there were important reasons for us to go there. At the very least I should have assured you that I took no pleasure in Malfoy's company and that I had no intention of hobnobbingwith my former partners in sin. I should have told you I wasn't straying back into darkness."

"I didn't think that. I _don't _think that."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Severus," she said falteringly. "One of the things that I said, that I was uncomfortable with my... status. I didn't mean that-- at least not the way it sounded. I was only uncomfortable at the time because I was so mad, and... and hurt. My... situation... really isn't bad. It's not bad at all."

"Really?" His voice had lost some of it's bleak tone. "Indeed. Humph! Does this mean you are reconciled to a husband won't let you fling yourself into danger, and forces you, on occasion, to buy... _clothes?" _

"Well, I don't like to be _ordered_ to buy them!"

"I certainly comprehend that, and I will refrain from issuing you orders providing you give me no cause to do so. You neglect yourself, Hermione. There comes a point where you can be too studious and too... unselfish. You need to do a few things for yourself, purchasing clothes on occasion being one of them." He paused. "After all. The last thing I want is to be accused of being a stingy husband."

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. _That sounded so irritating!_ And yet... And yet she thought she saw the smoke and mirrors behind the usual Snape snark. He was doing his best not to be kind again. He was offering an olive branch disguised as a prickle bush. Oh why did he always have to do that? It made accepting that branch sometimes so very difficult.

"I'd rather you ordered me to buy books," was all she replied.

"I might if you buy the robes."

"Severus," she asked carefully. "Are you sorry you're stuck with me?"

"No." The sound was like velvet.

He walked over to where she was sitting and held out his hand to her. Hesitatingly, she took it.

"Truce?" he asked, and she nodded. Then he drew her gently to her feet. He drew her very close.

"Time for bed, Hermione. And speaking about taking care of yourself, you look extremely tense. Since I have a tendency to do that to people, that is probably my fault. So I propose you allow me to alieviate the condition by rubbing that tension out of you. What do you think?"

Of course. Sex, again. It was the only way he knew how to be kind. But at least she recognized this for what it was. And she really did want the closeness, the warm feeling that all was right between them again-- or at least almost right between them. She also really loved the way those long, talented fingers did a massage...

"I think that sounds good, actually."

Oh, and by the way. When you buy those new robes this weekend, get yourself some books... and a negligee too. Consider it an order."

This time Hermione did roll her eyes, but she continued to let Severus lead her into the bedroom-- one of his hands already massaging caressing circles into the small of her back...

"Aye, aye, sir!"


	27. Make me Beautiful

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 27: **_**Make me Beautiful **_

Hermione emerged cautiously from the fitting room, cheeks flaming with self consciousness at the hoot of approval from Tonks.

"Oy, 'Mione, that's the best one yet! You'll knock 'em dead in those robes!"

The sales witch gave an obsequious smile as she led her customer to the mirror. She simpered sickeningly in patent delight.

"_Beautiful _my dear. Absolutely _stunning! _It's _just _the right color, don't you think?"

"Sure, I suppose... " was Hermione's dry reply, "... for a Slytherin." The dress was green.

"But just remember, you're a Snape now," Tonks put in helpfully. "And you _are _going to dance at the Malfoy Ball. When in Rome... well, you get the drift."

"And it's the _perfect_ sort of gown for a Grand Reception," cooed the attendant. "From what I understand, the Malfoy party will be THE event of the season! Everyone who is _anyone _will be there! You're so _fortunate _to be going. If you wear _these_ gorgeous robes you'll look positively _REGAL." _

_Yeah, _Hermione thought, _no one would ever suspect I'm a Mudblood. Except that they already know it, don't they? All the fancy clothes in the world won't make that snobby crowd accept me. This is all so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If it weren't for the fact that I told Severus I would buy something here, I'd rather just forget the whole thing. What's the point? Is there actually a point at all? _

She eyed her reflection dutifully, more in a spirit of resignation than of interest or delight. The gown truly was beautiful. With the exception of her wedding dress, it was the most elegant thing she had ever put on-- far too elegant for a girl better known for brains than beauty. Seeing herself in such sumptuous attire, she didn't look at all like Hermione Granger, or even Hermione Snape, but someone new, someone different-- a strange interloper, or a child masquerading in pilfered finery. She looked older. She also looked sexy. This gown made the sweet blue dress she had worn to the Yule Ball look like an innocent child's pinafore.

Shimmering lengths of lustrous silk embraced her like an erotic, emerald kiss-- though to describe the color as "emerald" was misleading. It would be like calling the ocean simply "blue," or a sunset dismissively as "red." Every shade in the entire green palette seemed to dance joyfully in the exotic fabric, color overlaying color in a subtle play of light, darkness, richness, and pallor. Tiny sparkles shone in it like flashes of secret gemstones. It wasn't just green, it was _all-green_, and when Hermione moved in it, luscious ripples of verdant hue presented a whole new meaning for the term "living color."

The dress clung lovingly to all of her curves and proudly, boldly accentuated them. For the first time, Hermione was conscious of actually _having _a figure, and the strangeness of seeing it on display made her uneasy. She gazed doubtfully at the amount of skin showing. Perhaps this gown was too risque for her. She had never shown so much cleavage in her life.

"Isn't it just a bit... low in the neckline?" Hermione tugged a fabric edge fruitlessly as she tried to make it cover more of her white, rounded bosom.

"That's _décolletage, _my dear. And let me say, you fill it splendidly."

"There's more of me out of it than in it!" she protested. "Look! The back is open almost to my butt!"

"And it shows off your back just beautifully. Such flawless skin you have! You look like a statue of Venus come to life. I always say, my dear, that if you have it, _flaunt it!" _

Hermione turned in front of the mirror to examine the effect critically. She supposed she did look nice in the gown. She looked glamorous, almost beautiful-- until one looked up at her plain, serious face and that frizzy, unstylish hair... A sigh escaped. Buying this dress would be stupid. It would be like sticking canary feathers onto a wren and then trying to pass it off as as a canary. No one would be fooled. If Hermione-the-geek dressed like an Oscar's Night diva people would only laugh. She would look ridiculous. Who did she think she was kidding?

Except that it did look gorgeous, and there was an exciting element to wearing glamorous clothes. She looked taller in this dress, older and more sophisticated. She looked like a woman mature enough for her husband to trust-- who couldn't be dismissed as a mere student in need of a chaperon. Wearing this dress gave her poise. It made her feel as though she _could _be beautiful. Hermione wondered what Severus would think if he saw it, and she glanced again at the... décolletage. She could only imagine what he would say to that.

"I don't know," she reflected soberly. "Severus might not approve."

"_Are you kidding!" _Tonks exclaimed. "One look at you in THAT and he'll eat you right up!"

Hermione blushed and glared at her "chaperon," while the sales-witch flashed her a wicked grin.

"But isn't it too revealing? I mean, I'm supposed to make a good impression at this party. All sorts of Ministry people are going to be there. I don't want to look loose, or trashy."

"Listen, 'Mione," said Tonks seriously. "I'm related to the Malfoys. My mum was a Black, remember? I know the protocol. Yeah, we didn't get invited out much because of my dad but I know the type of parties my mum used to go to, and I saw the sorts of robes she wore when she went. This dress is _just _what you want, believe me. Every witch who isn't too fat or too old is going to be wearing the same sort of thing. They're all going to be trying to out-glam the others. "

She smiled at her friend's doubtful expression. "Buy it, 'Mione. If Snape doesn't like it, have him yell at me-- that is if my wild and furry husband will let him! But he won't yell. I promise he won't. These are just the kind of robes he _wants_ you to buy."

Still looking in the mirror, Hermione hesitated. She wished she had someone with her other than the brash, outspoken Tonks. She wondered what Ginny would think, what Luna would think. _No, she really didn't want to know what Luna would think... _Perhaps if Molly Weasley were with her, or Professor MacGonagall, she would feel a lot better. She found herself wishing painfully for her own mother even though she knew her mother wouldn't have set foot into a wizard dress shop or approved of wizard parties. When it came to down to a decision, Hermione was on her own.

"Can I return it if my husband doesn't like it?"

The sales-witch glowed with triumph. "But of course, my dear. You have ten days. But he'll like it. How can he not?"

Hermione nodded and Tonks actually clapped her hands.

"It's perfect, 'Mione, really it is. _You're going to have so much fun!_ Imagine YOU at a Malfoy party! I'd almost be jealous, but I don't think I'd really fit. I'm too loud, you know. And too clumsy."

"I don't know about clumsy, Tonks," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I haven't noticed you bumping or knocking into things lately at all. Maybe it was just nerves or lack of self confidence. Maybe getting married helped you out of all that."

"Yeah," said the auror, suddenly misty eyed. "I owe it all to my wild, woolly lover... I'll have to thank him extra special tonight!" And she laughed when Hermione turned away in embarrassment.

Oddly, now that the decision was made, Hermione felt a little better for it. She had to get some new dress robes after all, and these were as good as any. And though as a Gryffindor she hated to admit it, green really was a much better color on her than red. Red seemed to bring out all the reds in her skin, making her look blotchy or slightly blushy-- whether she was actually blushing or not. Green seemed to cool her skin tones, rendering them milky white with hints of peachy rose. It brought out the dark gleam in her chestnut curls and the honey richness of her warm brown eyes.

She took a last glance in the mirror. Would Severus really like it? Would he appreciate her in it? The sight of herself in the slinky gown gave Hermione erotic thoughts, and the feel of the clingy fabric made her slightly aroused. She thought of her husband's lips and the whispering touch of his hands. Echoed sensations of coupling played in her mind. Could she "inflame" him with this dress? Would she actually want to? Hermione hurried into the changing room to get the dress off.

Donning her plain, ordinary robes, Hermione felt almost relieved. These were her normal clothes. They went with her normal, serious life. It was as though she had been playing a role for the last hour or so and was now able to be herself. The role certainly had its interesting moments, but she had always been conscious that she had been acting another's script-- without the benefit of having read it.

Hermione had never been one for new clothes, and unlike most women, never had a covetous hunger for finery. She had been like this as long as she could remember, and as a child books, building toys, and tools had always taken pride of place to dressing up. She hadn't even liked the color pink! The Grangers-- scientific, sensible people-- had never encouraged frippery, yet as she grew older, even they-- especially her mother, Dr. Ivy Granger, had chided her more than once for her lack of care for appearances. Her mother had been a formidable model of professional style and grace.

"_Do something about your hair, Hermione! Is it the fashion for witches these days to look _

_so wild and unkempt?"_

_"There's more to life than books and magic, you know. Why don't you go dancing, or _

_shopping, or something? Talk to someone on the phone. It's time to grow up now and be _

_a woman."_

_"You shouldn't hang around so much with those boys! It isn't natural. Don't you have girl _

_friends? After being with boys all the time, you look and act like one!"_

Hermione had been hurt and irritated by these comments. She liked to please, and she had worked hard to do so. Her voracious thirst for knowledge had always been a tool for parental approval. They had loved it when she learned things-- and learned them faster than anyone else. They were excited when she won prizes and awards. Her parents had even been happy when they found out she was a witch. They had sent her off to Hogwarts proudly and then rejoiced over her outstanding grades.

But as time progressed, it seemed that even that had not been enough for them. It wasn't sufficient for her to be gifted, smart, and capable. It suddenly became necessary that she be pretty and personable as well, and Hermione had no idea how to bring that about. When it came to primping, she had neither interest nor aptitude, and her mother had never taken the time to show her. Ivy Granger, poised in her crisp, cool beauty, had never sat painting nails with her daughter, or braiding her hair. They had never done much shopping, or idled their time with catalogs and beauty magazines. They didn't even borrow each others jewelry (Hermione had none) or swap each others clothes.

And the _Mrs_. Dr. Granger had never bought her daughter's wardrobe with the sole intent for fashion. She was a practical person, her own style simple and tastefully elegant. The professional aura produced by her severely flattering hair and her classically tailored suits never failed to convince new patients that she was a dentist fully qualified to take care of them. Hermione's mother had been a no nonsense person, fully feminine, yet fully dedicated to her career, and her daughter had always wanted to be just like her. It somehow never quite happened.

On Hermione, her mother's ascetic style never exuded that aura of quiet, elegant command. She seemed dowdy rather than classic, spinsterish instead of professional. Where Ivy appeared crisp and efficient, her daughter looked bookish, like an absent minded professor with a pen (or quill) perpetually stuck behind an ear and an expression of rapt mental distraction. The fact that she had inherited her father's wild, bushy hair didn't help either.

Still, bookish was what she was, and it was the way she felt most comfortable. Hermione wouldn't change how she was made even if she believed such a change was possible. Even if make-up could transform her face from plain to pretty, she wouldn't want to go to all the trouble. It would be time thrown away as far as she was concerned, and in that respect, Hermione was almost glad she was plain so that the effort of make-up was useless. Almost...

There were times Hermione yearned painfully to be beautiful-- to be everything that was good and desirable, and to have the kind of face that drew men's attention and kept it. She wanted very much to be attractive, to be a girl men fell in love with-- even if all that sort of thing was silly, and all over for her now.

Ron's too-late confession of love wasn't a consolation. She doubted if Ron really knew what love was. And as for his loving _her_... well, perhaps he had cared for her once in a confused, boyish way. She was familiar to him, as close as a sister without actually being one. He relied on her for help and took for granted that she would always be there. Under such circumstances, it was probably natural for a sort of possessive puppy-love to bud and to come into sudden, painful bloom when all hope for it was lost.

But that bloom had faded quickly. It was the product of childhood-- a fancy wrought of innocence and ignorance. Now that they were growing up, and growing apart as well, Hermione belonged to Severus Snape and Ron barely even spoke to her. Though she had an odd feeling that _Snape _had done something to make Ron to keep his distance, it probably would have happened anyway. Some coed friendships didn't last into adulthood. Hermione just hadn't thought that would happen to them.

Strange how it didn't hurt her much anymore. Though she had once desired Ron, Hermione now found it hard to believe. They weren't suited to each other. She thought of him now as just a childhood friend, and it was impossible to imagine any passion between them. Besides, Ron's attraction to her had always lacked a deeper element. He had never looked at her with real desire, and even when making his awkward confession, it had been with the eyes of a boy seeking comfort, not the eyes of a man. His was a "friends-with-benefits" proposition. He had never once told her she was pretty either.

Severus, on the other hand, did seem to desire her. He showed it in how frequently he approached her for sex, and in the impression he gave at those times that he found her attractive. But Hermione supposed that was probably only male hormones at work. When a man was hot and ready for action any close, available female would tend to look good. It would be best, she thought soberly, not to read too much into it. She would only be disappointed.

But those moments when he looked at her in naked lust, those few seconds before she was lost in his embrace, were the only times Hermione had ever come close to feeling beautiful. The experiences of passion intensified it still more. As irritated as her husband made her with his stern, old fashioned attitudes and his sometimes unreasonable demands; as infuriated as he often was with his bad temper and stiff, caustic ways, she couldn't help feeling eager for those poignant times of delight. She couldn't help wanting them.. _and him_.. again, and again. She just couldn't help it.

Hermione felt guilty and a little ashamed of her need to feel desired and appreciated. Hers was an arranged marriage, and the appreciation only illusional. Severus didn't want her for anything but sex. And she knew he didn't actually want HER. Sure, it was nice that she found it so pleasant, but it would be better not to become too attached to him. It would be extremely foolish to care for him.

How worrisome that, against her will, some of that had already happened. Severus had become more a part of her than she had ever believed he could be. He intruded into her thoughts, her plans, and affected everything she did. Hermione found herself doing things to please him. For his benefit alone, she found herself altering her behavior or changing her words-- without consciously meaning to do so. It was uncanny as well as troubling. She sometimes even found herself thinking like him!

Such things frightened Hermione if she allowed herself to dwell upon them-- and she didn't often. Her usual course was to shy away from the subject, to deny its existence. She didn't care that deeply about Severus Snape. She couldn't. If she ever did come to care for him (she wouldn't let herself _think_ the word love...) he would hurt her, and he would do it without even trying. Severus didn't love her. He wasn't ever _going_ to love her. And if she ever had the misfortune to find herself in love with him, she would only earn his pity or scorn.

And that couldn't happen. _She wouldn't LET it happen... _Hermione squared her shoulders and picked up the green robes, folding them neatly before bringing them out. She couldn't love a man who wouldn't love her back. How could she love a person who made himself unlovable, who didn't encourage her love? The feelings she had for him-- they were _friendly_ feelings, that was all! If she cared about Snape in any way, it was as a person, a human being. She was only his friend. It made no difference that he would never love her because she didn't love him. She wouldn't let herself.

Hermione left the dressing room and handed the gown to the sales-witch. Then she took a quick, careful glance at her watch to see how much time was left before her next appointment. Only an hour. That was good. Now all she had to do was pay for the dress and fill the rest of the time. Wondering what she was going to do with Tonks during her appointment, she fished a money bag out of her robes.

"Don't worry about that dear. We'll charge it to the Snape account."

The woman gave her a small scroll with the price etched on it, and Hermione almost winced at how much the robes actually cost. She hoped Severus didn't mind spending all that gold. He had to know how pricey things were in this shop before he had sent her here, but she didn't like squandering so much money-- even if she _had_ threatened to buy the most expensive robes she could find...

Tonks saw the bill too and sighed. "Wow. Sure wish I had money," she muttered wistfully.

Hermione blushed. She felt embarrassed to be able to afford useless luxuries while her friend couldn't. Remus Lupin, being a werewolf, was virtually unemployable, and Tonks was struggling hard to keep herself and her husband on the one meager salary of a junior auror.

"Oh Tonks," she said sadly. "You're so much richer than I am. You married for love, after all. No amount of money in the world can make up for the fact that I didn't. I envy you, you know."

"Shall I have this package sent to the Manor for you?" the sales-witch interrupted brightly. The dress had already been wrapped neatly in shiny gold paper and placed in a monogrammed bag.

"What? Oh no. Just send it up to Hogwarts. To the Potions Master's quarters."

The woman looked at her strangely. "To the school? But how highly unusual. Don't you live at Snape Manor, dear?"

"No. I'm still at school, you see. I don't finish till the end of the year."

"You're still at school and you're _married?" _The sales-witch seemed torn between shock, suspicion, and avid curiosity. "I never heard of such a thing! However can it be?"

"The Marriage Law," Hermione replied flatly.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"_Oh. I see." _

Raised eyebrows conveyed instant, cruel disdain, and it was obvious that in this woman's eyes Hermione had changed from a valued customer to something along the lines of dirt. The young Gryffindor who just happened to be a Snape suddenly snapped.

"Yes, that means I'm a _Muggleborn. _And I'm proud of it too!" She reached over, took the package containing the gown, and tucked it under her arm. "Don't bother to send it to me. I wouldn't want to _trouble_ you. Just send us the bill."

"Are absolutely you sure you can pay it... _dear?_" The sales-witch almost choked on her last word.

"Of course," Hermione said acidly. "You had no trouble believing I could pay it before! I'm still a Snape, and my husband still owns the Snape estate. Who _my_ parents were shouldn't make a damn bit of difference! And it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to you either."

The woman bristled haughtily. "Such language, child! This is a _respectable _shop-- or it was. But I will send the bill to your _husband,_ and I will take it up with _him _if it turns out there is a problem."

"You've got a lot of nerve!" Tonks flared up. "You couldn't do enough for her when you thought she was pureblood, but now you treat her like dragon dung because you found out her parents were Muggles. What a hypocrite! In case you haven't heard, Voldemort lost the war..."

Hermione took her friend's arm. "Don't, Tonks. It doesn't do any good. Let's just leave."

"I think you should forget that dress and go buy one somewhere else! There's a lot of good robe shops around here-- places that'll treat you better than this lousy shop!"

The idea of canceling her sale was tempting. The best way to vote was with one's feet, and the best way to hurt a snooty sales-lady was to rob her of her commission. But Hermione had a appointment to keep in an hour, and she didn't have the time to try on a hundred more gowns at a bunch of other shops. She was tired. Besides, she really did like this one.

"No. I like this dress even though I don't like the _service. _What I WILL do is tell Severus how badly I was treated here and see what he decides to do about it." She smiled at the gratifyingly worried look that crept into the snobby witch's face. "And I'll go some other shop to buy my negligee!"

"You're getting a negligee?" Tonks crowed as they stepped back out into the Alley. "Cool! I know just the place to go for that. Things must be getting better between you and Snape, huh?"

It was impossible to tell the ebullient Tonks the state of her strange marriage or her own feelings about it. How she wished she had the simple life that her friend seemed to! Oddly though, the thought occurred to her that if she had a choice between Remus and Severus she would always pick Severus. But she told herself hastily that it didn't mean she _cared_ about Snape! It just meant she wasn't Tonks...

"He told me to buy one," was all she said.

"I'll bet he did! Say, what do you think about red and black lace? I saw something cute in one of the shop windows at Christmas. Maybe they still have it. Or something even better! Come on, 'Mione. I may not be able to spend money myself, but it's a lot of fun helping you spend yours!"

Taking another quick look at her watch, Hermione followed Tonks down the Alley.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Malfoy is plotting something. I am sure of it."

Severus issued the warning with a brooding air. For Hermione's protection, he had sent her shopping with Tonks, but the unpleasant side effect was the presence of Lupin. It still amazed him that the man was so eager for his company since Snape didn't exactly encourage it. But he also found he he couldn't completely push Lupin away either. Against his will, he felt sorry for the man, despised as he was for his condition, and it _was_ a novelty to be sought out as some sort of... friend. People didn't seek out Severus Snape. He certainly didn't have many friends. It also seemed this meeting might actually be useful. Somebody in the Order had to listen to him.

But Lupin just looked at him with his maddeningly mild expression and shrugged a little. "That's what you keep saying, Severus. But the fact is, we have no actual proof."

"To Hell with proof! I _know _the man! I've known him for most of my life. He's as poisonous as a black mamba and just about as tricky. _Of course _he's plotting something. He always is. Now is the time to watch him! We'll be taken by surprise if we don't."

"We are watching him. The whole Wizarding World is. If he has diabolical intentions, it certainly doesn't show. Lucius Malfoy is squeaky clean these days. Everyone's amazed by his good behavior."

"More fools they," Snape grumbled darkly. "The nicer Malfoy seems, the more certain the knife in your back! Lucius kills with a smile, Lupin. He even has a nasty way of inducing people to fall on their _own_ knives, and they do so without even realizing-- until the moment of death or dishonor-- who it was that caused their demise. I, myself, was one of his victims."

"But don't you see, Severus? That's the problem. You're biased. Couldn't this just be your suspicious nature working overtime? Think about it. Ever since Voldemort's death, Malfoy's been a changed man. He's been doing everything possible to help rebuild our society. He's sponsored public works projects and backed Ministry clean-ups. He's championed the underprivileged, and he gives to every charity there is. He's shown all evidence now of being a truly model citizen."

Snape's tone turned snide. "Is that so? And that doesn't strike you as odd? It doesn't seem strange to your logical mind that he'd be killing people gleefully one day, and then giving to charity the next?"

Remus didn't even blink at the biting sarcasm. "He could have been under the imperius,you know. Many wizards were."

"_He wasn't under the imperius!" _Snape snarled, eyes dark coals of hot fury. "Use some sense!"

"But it _IS _hard to tell," Lupin persisted. "That's one of the reasons that spell is so terrible. People bear the punishment for things they never, _ever_ wanted to do. Isn't it better in these cases to be fair and open-minded instead of suspicious and judgmental?"

"Open-mindedness can extend too far. A man can be so open-minded his brains fall out! Or is it possible in your case they already have? For what reason are you defending his cause so assiduously? Is it the 'hand of friendship' he's extended to the werewolf community? Beware Lupin! The Dark lord was partial to werewolves too, and in the beginning he _did _look benign."

Remus sighed. "Look Severus. Maybe you're right. Maybe everything _is _the way you say and Malfoy has something dark going on. But I want you to consider that you might be wrong. It IS possible that you're seeing plots where none exist. It's possible you're jumping at shadows. I'm not saying the man's a saint, but for your own good I have to play devil's advocate."

"Devil's advocate?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "So you finally admit that's whose side you're on?"

"Oh, come off it, Snape, you know what I mean! All I'm saying is that people can change. Hell, _you've _changed!"

Severus gave him the sort of look that sent chills up most people's spines and continued implacably, "Malfoy hasn't."

The werewolf looked away, perhaps to distance himself from that enigmatic Snape stare, or perhaps to collect his thoughts for another assault. "Well, what does Albus think about it?" he asked after a pause. The response he received was a snort.

"What do you suppose he thinks, Remus? You know Albus as well as I do. He's not just an optimist, he's a _positivist_. Albus wants to see good in everyone. He hopes for that good so hard that he believes in it whether it exists or not. That old coot even supported the Marriage Law until he saw first hand the sort of harm it could cause. Albus gives second chances too easily. He trusts far too easily."

"He trusted you, Severus," Lupin countered quietly. "He gave you one of those second chances, and look where you are now. Where would you be if he hadn't done that, if instead of being a 'positivist' he thought the way you do?"

"I'd be dead," Snape answered just as quietly, his hard, dark eyes taking no evasion and making no excuses. "Dead or worse. And I would be totally deserving whatever punishment I got."

"But shouldn't that make you more understanding? You were redeemed, not condemned! Aren't you grateful that someone showed you mercy?"

Snape seemed to loose it at that moment. "_Of course_ I'm grateful, Lupin! I'm glad as all _HELL_, and more thankful than you can _possibly_ know that instead of ending up as dementer food I fell into the hands of someone who believed in redemption! But there are those who WILL NOT be redeemed. No matter how freely redemption is offered, _they will not take it!_ They would rather rule in Hades than serve in Heaven. The Dark lord was one of those, and Malfoy is another."

"You don't actually see Malfoy as the next Voldemort?" Lupin scoffed.

"It's not impossible. There is always another dark lord. Such is the nature of darkness itself. At present, a void at the top is still open and we must expect an ambitious wizard to attempt to fill it. Our task is to to detect, deter, or destroy that wizard-- or die trying. It is a job that never ends."

"Albus should have given you that Defense position, you know."

Black eyes regarded the werewolf soberly. "I agree."

"All right," Remus sighed. "Tell me, Severus. Convince me. What is it you've seen, heard, or found out that points to dark activity? Don't tell me hunches or past prejudices. I need facts."

"Facts," Snape pronounced in sibilent sarcasm. "By all means. We shall start with the obvious-- the fact that he's marrying Muggleborns. To a wizard with brains, this should raise a _flaming _red flag."

Exasperated, Lupin threw up his hands. "But everyone sees that as a good sign! Most people think he's setting aside old prejudices, that he's accepting all wizards as equal."

"Really?" Snape's tone was ascetic. "I suppose that would explain why the first bride died within months of their union, and he is even now starting on a second."

"The poor girl died of a miscarriage. That happens to a lot of witches. You know the unfortunate saying: 'Wizards die in duels, and witches die in childbirth'. I admit it can look rather suspicious, but it _was _checked out by a midwife."

"And did anyone check out the midwife? Ten to one she was in collusion or under the imperius, and it's all in Malfoy's favor that our whole system regarding magical childbirth is corrupt..."

He paused to catch the other man's eyes. "Listen to me, Lupin. When Nymphadora breeds werewolf pups for you, take her to a Muggle hospital. _Muggles _don't tend to die in childbirth! And by the way, has anybody actually heard how _Narcissa _died? Does anybody know exactly _when _she died? It's extremely odd that there was no ceremony and no official mourning for her."

"Hmm." This finally seemed to make Remus consider. "We all supposed she was killed by Voldemort and that it was the reason for Malfoy's change of heart. They say he actually cried at his confession."

"Indeed. Sounds impressively sappy. Except that there was no change of heart. Malfoy feels no remorse for anything he's done. The second red flag is his attempt to bring me into his sphere."

"Really? I know you and Hermione have been invited to his party, but then you are Draco's godfather after all. And you did used to be friends with Lucius. Couldn't this just be a friendly gesture?"

"I've talked with him, Lupin. I spent an hour in his company, at his house, drinking wine and exchanging very guarded... pleasantries. He hasn't changed. He wants me indebted to him, or baring that, he wants me where he can keep an eye on me. There is no flowering of goodness in him and no remorse either. He looks back upon his twisted past with _nostalgia." _Severus almost spit the word in distaste.

"Well what did he say? Can you tell me anything definite?"

"No," Snape growled in frustration. "He was far too careful for that. Lucius was sounding me out, hoping to discern my loyalties, and I did my very best to play along. Believe me, nowhere in our exchange did he paint himself in the role of a changed and chastened citizen! Unfortunately, he didn't tell me what he was up to either. He simply wanted to make sure I was on his side, or that at the very least I wasn't against him. All I know is that there is something behind these Muggleborn marriages, and that it's important to Lucius to make his wives pregnant-- and to learn if _other _Muggleborn wives conceive as well. He has even researched Muggle birth control."

Remus frowned. "Muggle birth control? Now that is odd."

"Very. And what's even odder are the new wards he has placed around his property-- wards I can't get past. He's strengthened his magic somehow, tapped into some source I've never felt him use before. There is no other way, Lupin, to greatly change one's magical signature _except_ by dark magic. Lucius is dabbling in the Dark Arts the same way his master did, and he wants followers. I can only infer that he hopes to become a dark lord, but I have no idea how much power or how many followers he has."

"So you're watching him."

"Yes. That's why I'm going to this infernal Ball he's hosting. I only wish I could leave Hermione out of it. Malfoy has asked some disturbing questions concerning her. But unfortunately, we have both been invited and it would look suspicious if we both don't attend."

"Well," said Lupin philosophically. "Look on the bright side. Since you have to bring her anyway, she can gather information for you. Two wands are always better than one. Think of what a help she could be!"

Snape's expression turned suddenly cold. "I will not put my wife into danger. I'm surprised you would even _suggest_ it. She's staying out of this-- as far out as I can keep her!"

Remus looked startled, and astounded. "But why not? Is that fair to Hermione? She's a bright, capable witch-- the brightest witch of her age! She was invaluable in our fight against Voldemort, and she knows it too. I'm sure she _wants_ to help you! Have you talked to her about it?"

"Of course I have! She understands it's my duty to keep her safe. She understands I have her best interests in mind. Hermione is a child, and I've warned her more than once that she's not to meddle in things she's not ready for and doesn't understand. I shouldn't have to do more than that."

"You're making a mistake, Severus."

"Oh, am I, Lupin? Is that what you think? Would you throw _your _wife into danger? Would you put Nymphadora into situations where she could get killed or worse? Is that the sort of husband you are? I thought you actually LOVED her!"

Lupin's tone was quiet and his expression sad. "Tonks faces danger every single day, and I accepted that well before I married her. I consider all the time I have with her a gift. The last thing I would ever do is patronize her, order her around, or treat her as inferior to me in any way."

"Nymphadora is an _auror," _Snape spat._ "_She's had auror training. MY wife is still a student. There is no _possible_ way to compare their two circumstances. I will not allow Hermione to engage in espionage. She needs to stay safe."

"Listen to me, Severus." The werewolf's voice suddenly seemed urgent. "This is Hermione we're talking about. I've known her since she was thirteen. She's a doer. She's a fighter. She doesn't stand by and watch while other people solve problems. And she's NOT a child! After the things she's faced, after the skills she's mastered and the problems she's solved, she's grown up long ago. Hermione would HATE to be kept back. It's got to be torture for her to pushed to the side, locked in a cage, treated as though she isn't good enough..."

"_SHE IS MINE, Lupin!_ _She belongs to ME. _It won't be forever-- they'll nullify that Marriage Law one day and I'll lose her. She'll be able to throw herself in front of all the curses she wants then and I won't be able to stop it. I won't be able to keep her safe. But until she leaves, until she passes beyond my authority, I WILL protect her! She may not like it, but she will stay alive."

Sad, frank, understanding eyes met his. "If you love someone, Severus, sometimes you have to set them free."

Snape turned away to escape those honest, fearless eyes, and to keep his own expression from showing. "I can't lose her before I absolutely have to. Especially since I never really had her to begin with."

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After another long bout of shopping, Hermione and Tonks left _Circe's Secret _with another bag in tow. Despite the auror's urging, she hadn't bought the red and black teddy after all, but a more innocent nightdress in soft, gentle peach. Tonks complained that the ball gown was sexier than the nightgown, but Hermione didn't care. She didn't feel comfortable with "naughty nighties" and felt guilty just trying them on. Her buried, unspoken desires always embarrassed her.

Besides, she didn't know how to act in sexy clothing, and with another pressing matter on her mind, she didn't want to think about it. The hour was almost up and her appointment was looming. The main problem she had now was getting away from Tonks. In the face of such a dilemma, sultry and provocative nightclothes seemed trivial. And she had no idea _how_ to seduce her husband anyway. She felt it would be awful, if after making the effort, Severus only laughed...

Tonks looked a little tired. "Say, 'Mione, why don't we head over to the Leakey Cauldron and have a butterbeer before we floo back?" Hermione suddenly saw an opportunity.

"I'd rather not just yet. I still have some more shopping to do. Severus said I could buy some more books, but since I haven't been in a book shop for months now, I haven't the foggiest idea which ones I want! I'll have to look everything over for a while before I decide. You don't mind, do you?"

"_Books?" _Poor Tonks obviously didn't relish the idea of spending lots of time amidst the printed word. She had been bored to distraction when they had been book shopping at Christmas, and she had suffered the interval badly. This was just what Hermione had been counting on.

"You don't have to come with me. It's silly to waste time in some place you don't want to be. You could do something else. While I'm in the bookshops, you can have lunch in the Cauldron or catch up with one of your friends. Doesn't Sophie Roulaisson work over at the sweet shop?"

"Hmm, yeah," Tonks said thoughtfully. "I haven't seen old Soph for months. She's married now, did you know? And pregnant too. But we're supposed to stick together, 'Mione. Snape wants me to make sure nothing happens to you."

"Oh, come now, Tonks. I'm perfectly safe looking at books. What could happen to me there? And besides, I could be hours! I won't tell Severus if you won't. And it'll be OK, really. I promise I won't go any place _BUT _a bookshop!"

Tonks considered for a moment and then nodded. Either the oppressive prospect of long, dusty hours in a book seller's finally swayed her, or the temptation of juicy gossip tipped the scales. Either way, Hermione left her friend at the entrance of _Guilty Pleasures Sweet Shop_ and headed in the direction of _Flourish and Blotts. _She didn't, however, go in there.

With a quick look behind her to make sure she was completely out of sight range for Tonks, Hermione walked on past the wizard book shop and continued to the end of the Alley. She raised her wand to the boundary wall, tapped the correct sequence of bricks, and watched the archway form itself in front of her. Then, with a twinge of guilt for her deception, Hermione stepped out into Muggle London to keep her appointment.

_AUTHORS NOTES:_

_I had some fun with names in this chapter. The Roulaisson (given as a last name to a worker in a sweet shop) refers to the harvest season on an antebellum Louisiana sugar plantation. I found the word in the Barbara Hambly novel, __Sold Down the River.__ Great novel, by the way._

"_Guilty Pleasures" comes from a Laurel Hamilton book by the same name. That is where the similarity ends though. In Hamilton's story, Guilty Pleasures was a pick-up bar for vampires. Not a very sweet place at all._

_Circe's Secret needs no explanation. _


	28. Water Under the Bridge

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

_Author's note: Many thinks to my beta Country Mouse for her help in getting this chapter ready. Her input is a phenominal boost!_

**Chapter 28: **_**Water under the Bridge **_

"_If you love someone, Severus, sometimes you have to set them free."_

"_I can't lose her before I absolutely have to. Especially since I never really had her to begin with." _

Remus eyed the stiff, dark clad back of Severus Snape with apprehensive sympathy. He understood the man's emotions, he actually agreed with his position, but he couldn't help thinking there was a danger he hadn't been able to convey to him. Snape was making a mistake with Hermione-- a well-meaning one, of course, but still a mistake. There were times ( and he was sure this was one of them) the best course of action wasn't actually the "right" one. Severus wanted to protect his wife, and he was completely correct in wanting to do so. But Remus knew that _Mrs._ Snape wasn't one to submit meekly to "Don't get involved," "Don't ask questions," or "Wait until you're older."

Hermione Snape was a fighter. She was a crusader. She did have a compulsion for obeying rules, but she always overrode it when she felt someone needed her. And someone had always needed her. She had been there with Harry when he went after the Sorcerer's Stone; she had been there in the Shrieking Shack; she had helped Harry defy Umbridge, and had been wounded in that disastrous Ministry raid. Always Hermione had put others ahead of herself, and she had never hesitated to break rules to do so.

Lupin mentally shook his head. This quality that so alarmed Severus, he couldn't help but find endearing. Noble courage, unselfish bravery, was Gryffindor at its best, and it was _good_, not shameful. How could he NOT admire Hermione's bravery? How could Severus suppress or condemn it? Why did Slytherins always look down upon courage? How could they see it as stupid or wrong?

But here the werewolf paused uncomfortably. At school, his friends had favored other sorts of bravery-- the kind of that picked fights and broke rules for the sheer joy of it. Remus winced now at the hazard he, himself, had unintentionally become at the instigation of those friends. He also felt ashamed of how his beloved friends had persecuted the man in front of him simply because they thought it was "fun."

He sighed. No wonder Snape had such a bad opinion of Gryffindors and their courage. Many of them felt the highest form of bravery was fighting Slytherins! Even Remus had thought that way when he was young and foolish. But now he knew that his "good" friends had themselves done evil, and the man they had once branded "evil" had turned out to be good. And now, in this case, he felt the "good" thing to do might actually be bad. Snape's obvious "right" course of action could possibly end in harm.

Snape seemed to think he could keep Hermione safe by issuing orders, that he could force her to stay innocent simply by saying "no." But Hermione had a nasty habit of NOT wanting to stay innocent. There was a real possibility that by trying to keep her out of it, Snape would drive her to snoop on her own, and if she felt that it was _necessary _to get involved, no amount of orders would stop her! In attempting to save her, Snape might be spurring her on. The problem was trying to tell him that.

Remus knew he had made a blunder. He had said the wrong thing and given the wrong impression. Snape loved his wife. He loved her every bit as much as Remus loved his, but his passion had been sharpened to the point of pain by the one-sidedness of that love. It made him unreasonably possessive. He couldn't allow her freedom if it put her in danger. He couldn't let her follow her own instincts if it might mean losing her. Remus knew that if the worst happened and he lost Tonks, at least he would have the memory of their love, but Severus didn't have any such comfort.

If Snape lost Hermione there would be no memories of a happy, committed marriage. He didn't even have that now. Until the repeal of the Marriage Law, he would have nothing at all but what he could grasp of each day; and stubborn man that he was, he'd cling tight to whatever little he thought he did have-- never realizing until too late, that he had been driving it away... or perhaps even choking it. He wouldn't believe ( unless it hit him on the head ) that he could win or earn the love he craved.

At that moment, Snape was still standing with his back to Remus, hostility radiating from every stiff, unyielding line. He looked dangerous-- a man on the edge or like a wounded animal-- and he was both of those things. Severus had shown him a little of his pain. He had displayed weakness to someone he probably still hated. He was also righteously angry at what he perceived as betrayal.

Lupin had crossed a line by suggesting that Hermione help investigate-- and he hadn't meant it the way Snape took it. He wasn't advocating she do anything _dangerous_-- just some minor research. But he had said it all wrong, and now he was "the enemy". Snape wouldn't listen to him-- wouldn't be _able _to listen. He would erupt in unreasoning fury over any more Remus had to say about it. _But he had to say something! _He had to explain what his concerns really were. He had, at least, to apologize...

The smoldering silence was frustrating. What could he do? He had to break that silence, had to reestablish the connection. If only Snape weren't so difficult! If only they were friends, not just quasi-comfortable allies! Anything he said about Hermione now could push Snape over the edge. But perhaps he should try another subject, something neutral just to get them talking. Then he remembered something puzzling Snape had said a while back and seized upon it.

"Severus," he began. "You mentioned something earlier about Muggle hospitals."

"What?" Snape sounded distracted. Remus considered that a good sign.

"Muggle hospitals. You said I should take Tonks to one of them to have a baby."

Snape turned partially around. His face was almost hidden by obscuring black hair, but the black eyes peering from beneath it blazed with a touch of resentful envy. "Nymphadora is pregnant?"

Remus hesitated. He had noticed that touch of envy and had a feeling that even this topic was salt in a wound, but went on anyway. He had started it, and at least Snape was speaking to him.

"She may be. I don't know. We have been trying. Why a Muggle hospital?"

"To save her life, and I would caution you not to wait. Take her to a Muggle healer NOW, at the first discovery of pregnancy. That old saying you quoted: 'wizards die in duels, witches die in childbirth' is sick and _stupid._ No one should think like that. If you care about your wife at all you will listen to me."

Such unorthodoxy made Remus marvel, but he marveled also at the subtle change in Severus. The man's voice was still coldly harsh with snide overtones of resentful jealousy, but there was covert concern lurking in the dark, fathomless eyes. Lupin was secretly touched-- and surprised. Snape always acted like he didn't give a damn about him, but perhaps he actually did-- a little tiny bit.

"Why Muggles?" he asked, puzzled. "I don't understand. Aren't we _wizards,_ Severus? Isn't magic superior? What can Muggles do that would be better than what we can do?"

For that he received an disdainful snort. "What can they do, Lupin? Everything, since we do nothing! Magic might be superior, but wizards don't use it in childbirth. They employ no magic at all even in instances of extreme emergency. All our magic is of no use, and we might as well not even have it for all the good it doesn't do us when we in are being born! _Muggles, _on the other hand, have a vast tradition of interventive technology. Muggles don't die in childbirth, or if they do, it's very rare."

"And how do _you_ know all this?" Remus persisted. "You're as magical as I am. How did you suddenly become an expert it Muggle childbirth?"

Snape scoffed. "I can hardly be considered an _expert_. But I do have a wife with ties to the Muggle world, and she has already informed me that if she EVER becomes pregnant, she will hex any wizarding midwife who comes near her! Apparently, compared with current Muggle medicine, Wizard birthing methods are both backward and barbaric. We don't even use anything for pain."

Lupin frowned. "Well, there's a reason for that. From what I understand, magic isn't used during childbirth because of complications to the baby's magic. No one wants their child to be born defective, Severus. Witches take the risks they do out of love. They bear the pain because they have to."

Angry, coal-black eyes snapped at him. "Witches take those risks because no one knows any better! Would you risk Nymphadora's life for no reason? Would you wish her needless pain? _My mother died in childbed, Lupin._ She bled to death, and her unborn child died with her! I agree with Hermione. We are magic-obsessed. We do things from tradition, people die of it, and we accept these deaths far too easily!" He looked sideways at Remus. "We accept deaths from _dueling_ far too easily as well."

"Well, I agree about the dueling. Wizards kill each other over stupid things. But I'm not so sure about Muggle healers. Don't they cut people up and sew them together again? _That's_ barbaric!"

Snape's voice was quiet. "Cutting and sewing people may sound horrific, but it might have saved my mother. The technique in childbirth is called Caeserian Section, and powerful painkillers make the procedure possible. Muggles even have the means to detect danger to the baby before birth. They also have ways of saving infants born prematurely."

"But painkillers are supposed to cause harm to the baby's magic!"

"_Magical _painkillers," Snape drawled. "Muggles don't use magic, so in this case there is no problem."

Remus didn't make a reply. He couldn't imagine a way to stop pain without magic. Painkilling needed charms or potions. Skepticism must have shown on his face because Severus gave him a sneer.

"Oh, come, Lupin, the world outside isn't _completely_ savage! Muggles do have brains, after all, and believe it or not, they're doing quite well without magic! They have _non-magical_ chemicals and potions. They have technologies based on natural laws. None of their medicine will harm our magic."

"Can we be certain? Should we take a risk when it involves our children?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Think of all the Muggle_borns_, Lupin. You once insinuated that they all might be EXTRA gifted! At any rate, it is obvious that they are equal to any in our society, and none of them have been harmed by the circumstances of their births."

A feeling of hope dawned for Remus. He _had _been secretly worried about his wife's pregnancy. Remus was proud to embark on fatherhood but he did realize the danger. That these dangers might be avoided now gave him a peculiar sense of lightness. He bubbled with sudden enthusiasm.

"You know, you really might be right, Severus. I never thought of it before! Not that most wizards would... But Muggleborns do seem to have better than average abilities. Hey, maybe there's something _good _for magic in those Muggle birth customs! Maybe it _helps _the magic! You say they do something for pain? Maybe relieving pain helps the baby, or maybe it's just the relief of anxiety..."

A dark eyebrow quirked at him thoughtfully. "Anxiety. Interesting. That _is _a possibility..." Snape glanced sideways at him with a surprised, but ironic smirk. "Well, well. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but you do appear to be capable of reasoning... given the proper stimulus, of course."

Lupin ignored the barbed comment. Sarcasm was second nature to Snape. Besides, it actually seemed to be friendly sarcasm-- or about as friendly as Snape was likely to be. Suddenly Remus remembered the little play-insults he, James, and Sirius used to give each other, and he missed his youthful days painfully. He missed his old friends too. It truly was a lonely burden to be their group's sole survivor.

Which was why, of course, he was reaching out to Severus. He just couldn't help himself. Snape was part of his past, one of the few people still alive who was a link to it. Of course, Severus hadn't actually been his _friend_ back then, but when he considered all the time and energy James and Sirius had spent on him, Snape almost seemed to have been a sort of "fifth Marauder." It was hard to remember any of those years without also remembering him.

But Snape's participation in their little group had been extremely unwilling. He hadn't found any of their battles fun, and as Lupin remembered, he had always had to fight them completely on his own. No one-- not even from Slytherin house-- had ever backed him up. The only person to defend him had been Lily-- and that only verbally. Severus had always stood alone, and Remus knew he had hated it.

Lupin hadn't been comfortable with his friends' treatment of Snape, but he had never had the strength or courage to stop it. Now he wished he had. So many tragic events might have been prevented had he done so! As it was, he just felt guilty. In the back of his mind, Remus had a bizarre hope that being Snape's friend now would atone for his past friends' cruelty. A silly idea. But the truth was that, outside of Tonks, he had no real friends-- certainly none his own age. Tonks was almost a generation younger than he was, and James Potter's son was younger still. At this point, all he had was colleagues who treated him with reserve because he was a werewolf. Lupin was very, very lonely.

"Where do you think I should find these Muggle healers?" he asked.

"Why not the same place Hermione has been going for birth control? Muggles use that clinic for birthing purposes as well as contraception. Nymphadora will have the advantage of already knowing where it is." He looked carefully at Lupin. "And it is also extremely affordable."

There was no snideness in Snape's tone when he mentioned affordability, and Remus was glad of it. He had long since learned not to be sensitive concerning his lack of means, but the condition did hurt. He couldn't help being a werewolf, but it made him virtually unemployable. In the past, Severus had made quite a few nasty remarks about it, but now, however, he was simply being matter-of-fact. Remus wished he could reward him, help him to get what he really wanted. He suddenly had an idea.

"So... you and Hermione are still pursuing Muggle birth control?"

"Yes, and so far it appears to be working."

"Well... ever think of stopping? Ever think of just letting her get pregnant?" Remus asked.

Snape looked indignant. "No, certainly not! Hermione's a student. She has to take the N.E.W.T.S., and she couldn't do that safely if pregnant. I have also promised her higher education. Having a child would not be in her best interest for at least a couple of years."

Lupin sighed. He was trying to be subtle, but Snape, the Slytherin, wasn't getting it.

"Look Severus. Forgive me for saying this, and please don't misunderstand me..." Wary black eyes locked on his. "But I know you love Hermione and you don't want to lose her. Well, women always feel something for the father of their children-- especially he is good to them. If Hermione has your baby, she'll probably stay with you. She'll feel connected. It will give her time to learn to love you."

The ironic eyes watching him turned perceptibly cold and the voice that answered was dangerously quiet. "And just what is it you think I should do Lupin, talk her into pregnancy or trick her into it?"

Remus felt suddenly uncomfortable. This wasn't going the way he expected. "Well, you wouldn't be the first man. All's fair in love and war, as they say."

Snape laughed-- a choking sound that was almost painful to hear since it was completely devoid of humor. "All's fair. Oh yes, they do say that, don't they? And a particularly _Slytherin_ maxim it is! Interesting that a Gryffindor like you should bring it up. I never knew you had it in you."

He examined his fingernails dismissively. "Don't think the idea hasn't occurred to me because it has. More than once. It isn't, however, something I will do. Perhaps I'm not the essential Slytherin after all. I don't seem to possess the proper _selfishness_ to pursue it." The implied reprimand stung.

"It's not selfishness to want to be loved." Remus felt he had to defend himself-- and explain himself too. "Hermione's a loving person. She _will _learn to love you in the end..."

Snape turned away. "You're a strange creature, Lupin. Wasn't it you who just told me that if I loved someone I should set them free? I'll never understand you. How can you advocate freedom in one instance and not in another? I may not give my wife the freedom to endanger herself, but I will NOT blackmail her into staying with me! Yes I care about Hermione-- enough not to force a bondage upon her with a man she does not love. You can't _make _someone love you. They either do or they don't."

Lupin knew he had made another blunder, and it only added to his guilt. Why had he been so sure that the ruthless-looking Snape would have jumped at any chance to hold onto his wife? Why had he even suggested it? Remus wished feverishly now that he hadn't, though it had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Snape loved Hermione-- loved her enough to risk her hating him for trying to keep her safe. He should have a chance at happiness-- even if it was a rather sneaky chance. Would either James or Sirius would have hesitated? No. The contrast between viewpoints was illuminating.

To say he had misjudged Severus was an understatement. He had completely misunderstood him. Which one of them now looked more noble? Which more honorable? Remus examined his conscience carefully. Did his offer of friendship spring from condescension? Had he really thought he was doing Snape a favor? He felt a flush of shame at the possibility. Remus had once felt sorry for Snape. He had even felt contempt for him. There had been many times he had consoled himself with, "I may be a werewolf, but at least I'm not Snape!" He winced now at the remembrance.

Severus always fought his battles alone, but he had never given up, never cried "uncle," no matter how many were arrayed against him, or what they ultimately did to him. Even alone he had been a match for two or more attackers, and years later, had never shirked an unpleasant duty or responsibility. This wasn't a man to envy necessarily, but he wasn't one to look down upon either. Lupin couldn't help the uncomfortable conviction that Severus Snape had turned out a much better man than he was...

"You know, Severus," a chastened Lupin ventured again softly. "I wasn't really suggesting you put Hermione into _danger._ That wasn't what I meant at all."

"Of course not." Snape's tone was bitterly scornful, and he had his back to Remus again. Lupin ignored the sarcasm and pressed on.

"I was only concerned that she's going to get into danger anyway. She's going to do it on her own. But if you gave her something small to do... kept her involved..."

Snape turned around, eyes intense. "What do you mean, she's going to do it on her own? I told her not to. I gave her strict orders! Are you saying she's going to disobey me behind my back?"

"You make her sound more like a servant than a wife, Severus," he couldn't help commenting.

"I don't CARE how you think I make it sound!" Here Snape sounded really exasperated. "I told you I am trying to keep her _safe, _and if I have to use my authority to do that, so be it!

"Look. I understand. I'm not saying you're not _right, _because you ARE right! But I also understand how Hermione thinks, how she _is._"

"Hermione respects authority. She always wants to do the right thing."

"That's true. She will want to do the right thing, but when has that ever stopped her from breaking rules or disobeying orders? It all depends on what she _thinks _is the right thing! Look how many times in the past she's flouted authority. Look how many dangerous situations she got herself into."

"That was Potter's fault!" Snape exploded. "He was always the instigator. But things have changed and she's no longer under his influence. Now, with my direction, her better nature will triumph."

"I don't know, Severus. She's a Gryffindor. She can't help trying to save the day-- especially if she thinks she _can_. If you don't include her she'll try to include herself. She might even be doing it now!"

For a moment Snape looked horrified. His sallow face took an even paler cast. "She wouldn't." he almost whispered, "She couldn't..." Then he seemed to recover himself a little. "No, she won't. I was smart enough to take precautions. It's why you're here, after all. Tonks is with her."

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.

Hermione walked with quick purpose, taking the opportunity to enjoy the Muggle surroundings. As much as she loved the Wizarding world, she often still missed the world she grew up in, the place that at gut level still felt like "home." The sight of cars, buses, traffic lights, and parking meters brought back scores of memories and a painful feeling of nostalgia. But even as she hurried down the London streets, it was with the mind and heart of an adult visiting a childhood scene. Though poignantly familiar, things were never the same. One could never go "home" anymore. She took the Tube to Oxford Circus, got out at Oxford Street, and made her way to Borders Bookstore.

Borders was not her favorite London bookshop. For research she preferred Grants and Cutler; the rare and hard to find, Simon and Finch's. She loved the exclusive air of Hatchards, the second hand texts at Skoobs, and for pure, eclectic, bibliophilic delight, there was no place better than Foyles... Borders was somehow... well the word _kitsch _came to mind. It was everything bright and modern-- everything trendy. Hermione, however, didn't usually care for the trendy. Trendy was often trite.

Not that it mattered today. Hermione was keeping an appointment, not really shopping. She would have preferred to set up a meeting at some eating establishment, but her husband's paranoia seemed to have rubbed off on her. She didn't know which London restaurant would be safest, and it wouldn't do to be spotted-- especially by someone unsavory... But no one-- wizard or otherwise-- would expect a meeting at a _bookshop_, and Borders was one with an eating place. It was also so glaringly Muggle. Hermione doubted any dark wizards would be lurking about inside.

The cafe was in the back, and Hermione walked past the tables of bargain books, the stacks of best sellers, and continued beyond the music section. She ordered a latte and a sticky bun and took a seat at a corner table. Presently someone approached her. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up and rose to meet the woman who had greeted her. "It's really Hermione Snape now since I'm recently married. But yes, I'm the person you're looking for. It's Mrs. Carr, isn't it?"

"Please call me Athena," the woman smiled, and they shook hands and sat down, for the moment doing nothing but settling themselves, arranging their food and lattes, and observing each other.

The woman who greeted Hermione with the shy, slightly hesitant smile was a surprise. She had been expecting someone far different. Since the tone of her letter had seemed formal, the impression that had come from it suggested coldness and disapproval. In the back of her mind she had pictured someone rather like her mother-- a brisk, business type woman in severe tweeds who didn't like magic and couldn't wait to be rid of of it. Hermione wasn't prepared for this friendly, very ordinary looking person. She couldn't help liking Athena Carr on sight.

"Thank you for meeting me in this sort of place," the woman began. "I've been to Diagon Alley, and I know how to get in..." She paused. "But I'm not exactly comfortable there. It's intimidating-- not just because I don't belong, but more because everybody there can do things that I can't. I feel unprotected, like I've gone out on a wettish day with no coat. Can you understand?"

Hermione nodded and sober thoughts filled her mind. That must have been how her parents felt when they had to go there to purchase her school things. As an excited, apparently selfish child, she hadn't given much thought to how they viewed those alien shops and the bizarre, rather frightening things they had to buy for her. She hadn't considered them because she had been caught up in her own joy. She had been asking question after question in her precocious, perky way, and she hadn't been thinking of her parents at all, except to simply assume they were happy for her.

"Diagon Alley can be a bit much," she said. "My parents didn't care for it either."

No they hadn't. She remembered now how her mother had looked at the purchase of some very creepy potion items. She recalled her father's unease in Ollivander's as he regarded the stacks of little wand boxes as if they were stacked up sticks of dynamite. Magic must have looked rather scary. Even mild, eccentric Arthur Weasley, with his ridiculous questions about Muggledom, had shocked them by fist-fighting in a bookshop-- and with one of the most sinister characters they had ever seen. No wonder they had turned against her magic in the end. Had she been in their place, how would she have felt?

"You wrote that you had some books and things that you wanted me to take," she ventured.

"Yes," the woman replied. "But just the textbooks. I've got them out in my car because there's far too many to carry in. They're no use at all to us, and we felt it would be best to donate them to needy wizards. Mum and I are keeping everything else-- her school letters and her robes... even some things that I think might be magical. It's... it's all we have left of her, you see. I wish we had her wand too, but that awful wizard she married kept that. It was the only thing of hers he did keep."

"Malfoy gave you back everything else?

"Oh yeah." The woman made a grimace. "We found it all dumped at our doorstep one morning-- trunks, books, clothes... everything she took with her when she got married. All except her wand. I suppose it was the only thing of hers he thought had value. I know none of us could have used it, and I suppose it's silly to wish we had it, but that wand was so much a part of her. She _loved_ it.She used to sleep with it under her pillow when she was little. It would have been something to remember her by."

Hermione nodded in sympathy. How odd that this situation was nothing like what she envisioned She had expected a cold, hurried exchange in an environment of wary, hostility. She had expected to meet a woman who had rejected her dead friend because of magic. Somehow, she had instead found a grieving sister who had a grieving mother-- a person who cherished every last bit of their lost family member... even if those bits were also magical.

She wondered what her parents would have done had she died instead of them. Would they have saved her wizard things in remembrance? They certainly hadn't seemed eager to do that while she was alive. They had only seemed interested in things from her early life-- which they had preserved with almost anal care. Did they really hate her magic? Had they come to hate her because of it? Hermione recalled how she had tossed out so many of her parents' things at the Manor. Why had she done that? Was she rejecting them? Or was it because she had felt they had rejected her? She had a sudden sad remembrance of finding a funny little, blue, misshapen felt hat...

But she reminded herself that here it was Malfoy who had done the real rejecting. He had discarded everything about his poor wife, leaving it without courtesy, or a word of consolation, at the steps of her mother's house. The monstrousness of that callous act was sickening. No one deserved to be treated like that, to be used up like a thing with even the memories thrown away. Hermione was certain even Severus wouldn't do that if she were to die. He wouldn't... would he?

No, Severus may not love her, but he wasn't evil, and he wasn't even actually cruel. Malfoy was the very definition of evil, and he was certainly beyond cruel. Hermione was sure he was responsible for Jeanine's death, no matter what reports were to the contrary. She just knew it, and this new information from Mrs. Carr only made her more certain. Only the sort of man who could kill a woman pregnant with his own child was capable of tossing away all remnants of her without a backward glance.

"I did bring something for you, though. Something I think our Jeanine really wanted you to have."

"What is it?" Hermione was intrigued.

"It's a diary, a journal she wrote in while she was married. But there's something weird about it, something not right. She never wrote to any of us at all during the months of her marriage, but she wrote in this, and it doesn't even sound like her. I... I don't want to keep it. It gives me the creeps."

Chills shifted down Hermione's back at this until she herself had the creeps. A diary. That wasn't good. Tom Riddle had kept a diary, and it had almost killed Ginny. The book had housed a piece of his twisted soul, and that tiny echo had been responsible for a basilisk running wild, several people including herself being petrified, and school almost closing down. And now here was another diary turning up under odd circumstances, and this woman wanted to give it to her... She hesitated.

"Why me? Why would you think she'd want me to have it?"

"Because she mentions you in it. She wrote about you in it quite often."

Hermione shivered visibly.

"Oh, everything she writes is good. In fact everything she writes is TOO good. The whole book is about how _happy _she is in her marriage! But every now and then she mentions you and wishes you could know how happy she is. She doesn't do this with anyone else. Just you, and it's odd. That's why I think you aught to have it. Maybe she was trying to tell you something. Or maybe she really did just want you to know she was happy. After all, you've been stuck by this awful Marriage Law thing too..." she paused uncomfortably. "I know it's probably impertinent of me to ask, but... are _you_ happy?"

The question caught Hermione off guard since she had been thinking about the diary, and she looked up rather startled, but she smiled. This poor woman only wanted to know if she was happy because she wanted to believe her sister might really have been happy-- a vicarious form of assurance. In this case, the truth wouldn't hurt. "Yes. I think so. Severus isn't the man I would have chosen, but I guess I am rather happy. As happy as I can be, all things considered. Can I see the diary?"

Mrs. Carr reached into a large handbag and pulled out a new, shiny hardbound volume. She put it on the table, and Hermione rose, carefully made sure no one was looking their way, and with her body blocking the view, let the tip of her wand protrude from her sleeve.

"_Specialis Revelio!" _she whispered, pointing her wand at the book. Nothing happened. A red flash of light emerged from her wand, but the book showed no evidence of anything weird. It didn't glow. It didn't scream. No mysterious runes appeared on it. For all intents and purposes, it was safe enough.

"What is it you're looking for?"

"Some sort of spell or curse aimed specifically at me."

"But Jeanine wouldn't do that!" Poor Mrs. Carr looked horrified.

"I know. But Malfoy would. It's just the sort of thing he _would _do. And he's used a diary against someone before. This one seems clean, however. I guess I was just being paranoid."

She smiled reassuringly, picked up the diary, and put it into her own purse. Then they both made their way out of the bookshop-- Hermione pausing to buy a Muggle physics book as she went-- and proceeded to the woman's parked car where the rest of the spell books were. She thanked Mrs. Carr again, wishing they could keep up a correspondence, but she realized it was most probably not feasible. Muggles and wizards didn't tend to associate, and that was sad. She felt it was time to break all these unwritten rules. She promised herself, as she shrank the books to fit neatly into her satchel, to keep the lines of communication open with Mr. Carr. Promising to send her an owl to let her know how her donations were used, Hermione hurried back to Diagon Alley with a feeling of accomplishment.

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Severus spared a narrow glance at Lupin who was fidgeting in his private rooms, and trying very hard not to look as if he were fidgeting. The man was an absolute irritant, but he he had to admit, as irritants went, he was probably well meaning. It had almost been laughable to watch him sadly compromise his honor and his rather dubious moral standards in that acrobatic display of foot-in-mouth... And why? To befriend him? Hell surely was freezing over-- or at least cooling up a bit. Did Lupin desire his friendship that badly? Could he really be that hard up?

Remus reminded Severus of a dog, unselfish loyalty written all over its eager little face. But Snape knew Lupin wanted more than just a pat. The werewolf sitting implacably before him wanted obligations-- the comfort and position of an alliance. He wanted to belong, and with the best of canine cunning was trying to make it happen. No homeless mutt could have done better. He was earnest, unassuming. He was playful. And like the hopeful stray, who persists in being friendly-- in just being there-- he never let up. _Look at me. I'll be your friend. I'll fetch your slippers. I'll fetch anything else you want! _It was weird, really weird.

And it was obviously all caused by guilt. Lupin always seemed to have guilt in his face and a slight unease in his stance whenever he was around him-- and well he should! After all, Snape couldn't look at Lupin without shuddering. The man had been a sycophant to a couple of swaggering bullies-- really dangerous fellows-- and he had never seen them for what they really were, so happy had he been to be in their company. He had been their faithful dog, even as Pettigrew had been their less than faithful rat. Severus would have rather have been damned than put himself in such a position.

Except, thought Snape wryly, he _had_ done exactly that, and the result had almost been damnation. It was shameful to think about, to have to remember, but once he had been Malfoy's dog just as surely as Lupin had been James.' Once he had practically worshiped the older Slytherin, and Lucius had cultivated this. He had fostered a sort of condescending mentorship, though there had never been any real friendship involved. Snape had been a pawn-- someone useful. Lucius still felt that way-- the only difference now was that Severus was no longer interested in playing "fetch."

He became aware that he was being regarded with that look of guilt again-- a look that made Snape want to sniff the air for the scent of impending obligation. It was all so tiring, even if illuminating. Snape's own back had carried a healthy load of guilt for years, and he supposed he should be happy to see that load redistributed. But it was odd that there was far less comfort in it than he had supposed. Lupin was making ready to speak, and Snape found he didn't actually want to hear it.

"For what it's worth...umm... Snape... I want to say that I'm sorry about the way I acted when we were younger. The way James and Sirius treated you was wrong. The way I treated you was wrong."

Snape had often longed for an apology, some formal owning up to of blame, but now that he had it he found it didn't make him feel any better. He had known actually for years that Lupin was sorry. It was the reason he had let the werewolf into his private sanctum in the first place. He didn't need to hear it now. The problem with people apologizing was that you were rather obligated to forgive them. At least that was what what you were supposed to do. Did he want to? Could he? Oh hell... He sighed.

"I suppose the worst you ever did was nothing," he conceded, wondering why he was being so kind.

"I should have done _something. _But I didn't. I just didn't have the strength. James and Sirius... and Peter were my friends. I didn't want to lose them. I... well, you see, they were the only friends I _had." _

Severus remembered hanging out with Lucius and his cronies, doing things he _knew_ were wrong, but doing them anyway because he was being included. He grudgingly made another concession.

"Strangely Lupin, I understand that. I'm not saying I like it or condone it, but I do understand."

"I shouldn't have acted that way. I should have been..."

His patience was fast becoming strained. He had tried to placate the werewolf, but just he kept on-- like a battering ram. And Snape didn't want to hear it. He didn't need to hear it. He didn't need to be bled on. He wanted to move on. Couldn't Lupin see? Well, Gryffindors, as always, were dense.

"And I want you to understand, that if I could do it all again..."

"Oh, Lupin stop. Just stop! If there's one thing I've learned in all my miserable years, is that human frailty is universal. There isn't a single one of us exempt. I'm no more exempt than you are and I've done my share of causing hurt-- the difference being that in this case you weren't on the receiving end of most of my errors. Forget it. Just forget it. I've done worse than you." There. He had said it.

"But I feel I'm somewhat responsible..."

"Do you?" Snape countered with scathing scorn. "Well, much as I would _love_ to heap the blame on you, the sad truth is I can't! We all have choices, Lupin. And we make them. Even when I didn't think I had any choices, I always knew at a very deep level that I did-- and I CHOSE to ignore it. Believe me, if anyone deserves credit for leading me down the poisoned path, _you _would be late on the list! Any predisposition I had for making wrong choices didn't come from you."

"I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

Snape had reached the end of his tether.

"Is expiation of guilt the only reason you've been seeking my company?" he demanded harshly.

"No!"

"Well good! Penitence may be mildly entertaining at first but it becomes a bleeding bore after a while. Water under the bridge needs to flow or it starts to _stink_, Lupin." He sent the man a blistering glare.

The werewolf smiled at him. "Truce, Snape?" He just never let up.

Severus tightened his lips a little. "I'll consider it." _When hell froze over. Or maybe it just did..._

"I'd really like us to be friends."

There was the dog again, looking up at him with expectant, needy eyes, waiting patiently, eagerly for favor. Snape had never been a dog person. They were social animals, and he was a loner; he didn't know all the intricate social cues to function in a pack. That was the reason he didn't mingle, why he kept to himself, to his dungeon and his books, the reason he had difficulty relating to his wife. He didn't like associating with dogs, human or otherwise. They needed so much attention, so much work.

Yet a lone dog became a wolf. And wolves caused nothing but trouble... Snape sighed. Perhaps he should consider Lupin a friend. After all, it never hurt to have friends, and the only one he had thus far-- if he discounted Hermione-- was Lucius. With friends like that, there was no need for enemies. Besides, there was some sort of poetic justice in allowing Remus Lupin as his friend. Perhaps it would make up for all the pain James and Sirius caused. Besides, the man wouldn't take no for an answer...

"You do understand that I'm not the chummy type, don't you?" he warned. "I probably never will be. However... If you still insist upon counting me among your friends, I don't suppose I can stop you. Just don't expect me to be anything other than what I am." _A bastard... with a heart._

"That's good enough for me."

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"Where have you been! I've been looking all over for you!" Tonks was absolutely livid, and her hair was such a lurid shade of bright, flaming red that it almost fried the eye.

"I was at a bookshop," Hermione ventured defensively.

"The HELL you were! I've been to all the booksellers. No one had even _seen _you there! I even checked Knockturn Alley. So don't tell me you were shopping for books. Don't lie to me!"

Hermione felt stricken. She hadn't lied-- well, not really. She had only stretched the truth. "But I did go book shopping. See?" She held up her shopping bag and took out the physics book. Tonks eyes almost burst from her head. Electric blue stripes flashed in her hair.

"BORDERS! YOU WENT OUTSIDE! What in the world were you thinking? I'm supposed to be taking care of you. What if you disappeared and I couldn't find you? I thought you were my friend. I guess I was wrong."

Tears came into Hermione's eyes. She had never imagined this furious reaction. It had never occurred to her. In all her planning, she hadn't really considered how it would affect Tonks. Hermione felt suddenly ashamed, very lonely, and more than a little afraid. She couldn't afford to lose another friend.

"I'm so sorry, Tonks. I just didn't think--"

"I'll say!" Angry eyes snapped at her and Hermione broke down.

"Oh, please don't be so mad at me! I just had to get out! Severus won't talk to me. He treats me like a child! He won't tell me what's going on, and it just drives me crazy. I should have confided in you, I know I should, but I was afraid you'd take his side and say no. And I'm just tired of being treated like a baby and having to be watched. Oh, please, forgive me!"

The auror sighed, and her bright hair dulled to a slightly more brownish red, but she still looked stern, and very hurt, even as she patted Hermione awkwardly on the shoulder.'

"Now, now. You know I won't stay mad. You didn't really do anything on _purpose _to hurt ME. But you didn't think! You were selfish. What would have happened to me if we couldn't find you? What would I say to Severus?"

"I don't know why he would be all that upset," Hermione sniffed sarcastically. "He only sees me as an obligation anyway. It's not like he cares." She couldn't help the pitiful note that crept in.

The glance Tonks gave her was veiled and shrewd. "An obligation he has sex with?"

"Well... um, yeah...that."

"Oh, don't kid yourself, 'Mione. Snape cares more for you than you think he does. He might not be in love with you the way Remus loves me, but it's obvious you're not just a burden to him. Why else would he send me with you when you come here to the Alley? He worries. He even puts up with my husband while we're shopping, and you _know _they don't get along. I'd sure hate to think what he'd say if he knew you were out in Muggle London without me."

"Tonks! You're not going to tell him are you?" For the first time Hermione sounded scared.

"Course not! Are you crazy? I like my skin on my body, thank you! He'd pickle me and put me in one of those awful specimen jars in his office and label it, _"Defective Auror."_ YOU would only get a lecture. A damn good one too!"

"Yeah, he treats me like I'm two," Hermione grumbled disconsolately.

Tonks looked at her seriously. "You might not want to hear this, Hermione, but I think your husband has a point. Playing tricks and sneaking out of the Alley is not mature. If this is the way you behave, I don't blame Snape for not trusting you. Respect has to be earned, you know."

"But Harry always went out on his own and everyone was always fine with it. HE got respect!"

"Well, Harry Potter got away with a lot of things because of who he was, and we _weren't _all fine with it. Most of us thought he behaved like an idiot when he dragged you all with him on that Ministry raid! There are plenty of people who believe Dumbledore indulged him too much. He had privileges none of you other kids had."

"That's what Severus thinks. But we did things! Good things! We defeated Voldemort, didn't we?"

"Only with help. And it easily could have gone the other way. All of you could have been killed at any time during the last few years. Listen Hermione, you might be of age, but you're still only eighteen. You're still in school. I hate to say it, but I do agree with Snape. If he's doing something he doesn't want you to help with, he probably has very good reasons."

"He's got secrets he won't tell me. He won't let me help."

"Thank Merlin, Hermione! At least he's showing that much care. I think you should treat him better and appreciate that care-- at least until you are out of school. Look, promise you'll at least tell ME before you do anything stupid..."

Hermione nodded. She wished she could tell Tonks about the diary, but she didn't really think she could. If there was even the slightest chance that the book had sinister qualities, the auror would confiscate it, and she'd never get a chance to see what her poor lost friend had been writing. She'd also didn't want to let it slip that she had told even more lies... With a gut sick from buried guilt, Hermione followed Tonks back to Hogwarts.

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_Thanks to all my readers for keeping up with me. I know my updates are slow in coming, but my chapters are long, so I hope that's a consolation! Much is going on in my life, and it makes sitting down to write a bit hard, but I've not given up on my stories. I am truly hoping to see this one through to the end. Love to you all!_


	29. Let's Party

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

_Author's Note: I know most of you thought that I had abandoned this story, and that's understandable since I haven't updated for over two years. A devastating injury put me out of commission for a while and depression from lingering pain and other worries didn't help, but I never wanted to give up on writing. Sometimes it feels like my stories are a heavy weight hanging over me, and all those reviews people have sent have been an encouragement. I don't want to let you down! Please keep me in your thoughts and in your prayers if you are so inclined. I have a long road ahead._

**Chapter 29: **_**Let's Party **_

Severus ascended the steps of Malfoy Manor in a state of wary trepidation that he tried not to show. He had on his best spy-face, his patent look of poised, sneering superiority. With any luck it would fool all the idiots at this party and might even fool Malfoy. Well, that, at least, was the plan.

After an immaculate house-elf in a monogrammed tea towel popped before them and bowed, Severus unclasped both his and Hermione's traveling cloaks and handed them over. The poor little elf bowed again before it disappeared, and Severus walked purposefully into an enormous Grand Receiving Hall, ushering his wife with a hand planted firmly on her back. Her warm, sweet, bare back.

The dress Hermione was wearing made her look absolutely delicious- incredibly, utterly alluring. Snape was sure it had to have been Tonks who had picked out that sexy thing. Considering his wife's serious, bookish, slightly shy and practical nature, it was unlikely she would have selected a garment as stunning as this without help. Unless, of course, he had underestimated her. Which he might have...

Because the coy little minx had kept it a secret! She hadn't let him see what she had bought until this very evening when she had emerged like a siren from their dressing room all dressed and ready to go. It had been a seriously electric moment. He had almost burst his pants at the sight of her.

His fingers caressed her slightly as they moved along, and he felt a thrill of reward as her muscles shivered under his touch. It was a powerful feeling to know she was aware of him. Snape wanted to keep her off balance. He wanted to ground her in reality- his reality. The last thing he needed was for her to forget his instructions and engage in any snooping. Besides, he couldn't help wanting to touch her, to feel her soft, silky skin. He promised himself that once this farce was over, his dear little wife would get a long, hot, passionate reward.

Crowds of overdressed people in various stages of inebriation were milling about like brightly plumaged birds or elaborate floral arrangements. Severus knew his black satin attire made him the most sober looking man in the room, but he took pride in it. Snape had never desired the trappings of society and he had never cared if people knew it. He was glad, though, that his wife glittered as brightly as all the other hot-house flowers here. She made him proud. He wanted to show her off.

Several nearby heads nodded to him in greeting, but he acknowledged them only briefly before making his way to their host. The niceties had to be followed- especially where this family was concerned, and their temperamental host didn't keep them waiting. The senior Malfoy and a youthful, but sadly lackluster witch were advancing to meet them. She must be the newest Malfoy victim.

Lucius was steering along his over-awed Muggleborn wife with a sort of ruthless geniality, and the poor girl was following with a stupid but desperately eager expression. Snape felt extremely sorry for her. She was obviously fathoms out of her league and had no idea of her impending doom.

"Severus, old friend! How very good to see you again. And _Mrs. _Snape..." Malfoy smiled, showing a feral set of dazzlingly white teeth "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

Snape hoped Hermione wouldn't do anything so stupid as to be rude to Lucius in his own home, but thankfully his wife merely smiled- a tense kind of smile- and she thanked Malfoy for inviting them.

Lucius beamed again. "It is my pleasure. I'm glad for you to finally see my humble abode. And since this is your first time here, you must allow me to give you_ The Tour. _ Come find me after my guests have all arrived and I am temporarily between duties. I may just show you my... library."

Hermione tensed her back at this veiled invitation and Severus rubbed her skin in a steadying sort of way. He sent Lucius a meaningful stare and did his best to appear loomingly possessive.

"I am eager to meet _Mrs Malfoy," _he inserted. "I don't believe I have yet had that pleasure."

"No, it's true you have not. Unfortunately my poor darling Emma has never attended Hogwarts, else you would have had the joy of teaching her." He pushed his awkward looking wife forward. "Emma my dear, this is my good friend Severus Snape and his _lovely _wife Hermione. Mrs. Snape, as yourself, is a Muggleborn. And she is still at _school." _Malfoy smiled wickedly. "Severus was, in fact, her _teacher. _And a good teacher too unless I miss my mark. Isn't that right, Hermione?"

For a moment, Snape was afraid his wife would say something unseemly but surprisingly, she managed to give a gracious smile. "He is a good teacher, Mr. Malfoy," she replied evenly, meeting his eyes. "I've learned a great deal from him."

But in response to her Gryffindor directness, Lucius only laughed. "Oh I have no doubt that he has, _Mrs. _Snape," he chuckled, his eyes glinting wickedly. "And I'm sure on occasion he has done so quite... forcefully. Isn't that right, old friend?" He turned to Snape with a knowing smile.

"That is something I shall never tell, and certainly not within mixed society." Snape's tone remained purposefully droll, but he insinuated a subtle shade of warning.

Lucius ignored it. He was looking over Hermione in an appraising sort of way. "Let me compliment you, my dear, on your excellent gown. It shows off your assets quite admirably."

Pushing his cowed wife ahead of him, Malfoy prepared to greet yet another group of guests, but he paused a moment to remark loud enough for them both to hear, "Congratulations, Severus. You've cleaned her up quite nicely. She almost looks like a real witch. A little effort works wonders, doesn't it? Even if you're dealing with... inferior goods." As he strode off with an aristocratic swish of robes, Snape felt Hermione shiver with fury.

Six years of teaching his wife and almost six months of living with her, had given Severus had an instinctive knowledge of her reactions. Moving swiftly, before any sound could come out of her open, outraged mouth, he grabbed her hard enough to be painful and pulled her into the shadows away from the crowd. He hoped the shock from his sudden action would give him another couple of seconds, and thankfully it did. There was a breath of a pause while she rounded on him thunderously, and he took those few seconds to silence her with a kiss.

Hermione's lips were hard with fury and her wide, startled eyes stared at him in a sort of gob-smacked surprise that would have been highly amusing if the setting were anything different. But spying at Malfoy Manor was not a humorous situation. The last thing Snape could allow was for his Gryffindor wife to sound off at their host- no matter how justified she was. He had to shut her up.

There was a moment or two of intense struggle that Snape hoped wasn't noticed before Hermione relaxed a little and appeared to acquiesce to his kiss. When he finally judged it to be safe, Severus released her. His feisty wife had to catch her breath for a minute, but soon she was sputtering angrily.

"That snake! That _manticore," _she hissed. "How dare he say such things! And in public too!"

"We were the only ones who heard him, Hermione. Now calm yourself. Look. Happy!"

"Calm myself! _HAPPY!" _she sputtered. "What absolute, utter..."

"YES!" he pronounced quietly through slightly clenched teeth. "And we will smile and pretend that we are _delighted, _and that the term you were about to utter was _complimentary. _This is the Malfoy house. Don't even pretend to tell me you don't understand what that means."

Hermione's expression was murderous, and Snape couldn't help thinking that she was even more attractive with her "back up" than she was as an obedient little student. He also noted favorably that though she was glaring daggers at him, she was holding tight to his arms as if to a lifeline. True, her fingernails did appear to be poised to shred through his sleeve, but he found that rather erotic. Excitement always came with a price. Snape began to feel the bone white heat of desire.

"You wanted to know what it was like to be a spy, Hermione. Well this is it!" he whispered. "Now smile, play your part, and we might actually get through this stupid charade in one piece."

Severus expected that she would put up an argument, but his wife surprised him by pulling her face into a hastily assembled smile and standing a little straighter. She took his arm and let him lead her back into to milling mess of party guests. Only Snape could feel the steel tight grip of her hand on his arm and sense the spring hard tension within her.

"That's good, Hermione, but don't smile too hard. Act natural. You are every bit as good as these stupid stuffed robes. Better, in fact. Picture them in their underwear. Or under the Bat Bogey hex."

She looked up sharply at that remark, surprised into shocked little smile. He leaned in close to her to put his mouth next to her ear. "Do an exceptionally good job, my dear, and there will be bonus points for extra credit later on." His hand moved ticklingly down her back again. "Very satisfying bonus points. All night long." He noticed her blush as his fingers caressed her again.

Moving through the murmuring crowd, Severus eyed the few couples that had noticed their altercation and gave them his trademark, superior smirk. He knew that the part of a stern, controlling husband was all too easily accepted in pureblood wizarding society. There were plenty of wizards present who would only see it as his duty to instill discipline in a gauche Muggleborn wife.

And for those that might not... well, he _was _a newlywed after all, and his wife was a beautiful young witch who was dressed to the glamorous "nines." Why shouldn't he be possessed of the urge to snog her senseless every now and then, even in public? Snape caught the eye of one elderly wizard who was giving him a knowing, lascivious smile. Obviously old Aloysius Groot understood that concept. So did Lavinia Groot, the man's wife, who huffed disapprovingly and looked away.

"I hate this sort of thing," Hermione hissed softly through clenched teeth.

"So do I, my dear. So do I."

As the child of an old pureblood family, Severus had always had to endure his share of parties. When he had been very small, he had, of course, been spared more than a token appearance, but as he grew he had not been able to escape them. Besides being tutored in various magical disciplines, he had also been drilled exhaustively in matters of etiquette and deportment.

Snape remembered being made to stand for hours at attention, forbidden to even cough or scratch. He remembered having to recite the names of every person in his parent's world, giving their status, blood relation, obligations, and mode of address. He remembered having to dance with his horrible Aunts, stepping carefully so as not to raise their ire. All in all, he had learned not only to conduct himself as a proper wizard should, but to endure the crucio as well. Merlin knew it had been used on him enough.

Draco glided his way with a simpering Pansy Parkinson glued to his arm. The young man looked and moved as flawlessly as he did, which made Snape wonder if the boy's training had been similar to his own. Knowing Lucius, it probably had been.

As he steered his wife into the hall proper, he was aware of turning heads. Eyes from all over the room considered them, and Snape stood a little taller and bore their scrutiny with casual disregard. Of course they would look. Most of the guests were only here to see and be seen. Many of the cattle present would be chewing this cud for many months hereafter. There was little else they really had to do.

Eyes raked Hermione from head to toe, taking in her youth, her gloriously revealing gown, and the fact that she was here with him. Hermione knew she was being observed and Severus felt her tension, but he didn't think she'd fall to pieces. Gryffindors generally _weren't_ nervous types. Well, not usually...

He relaxed as Hermione slowly raised her chin and pulled her shoulders back. Her Head wasn't held _too _high, and he mentally awarded her bonus points. Too much confidence looked like defiance. The trick was to show quiet poise. Hermione appeared to be trying, and Severus smirked a little in pride.

This ravishing young woman was _his_. Many might think her inferior, but even they couldn't deny her beauty. Most of the wizards here probably envied him his possession of her- especially since they believed he was taking advantage of her- which he was, just not in the way they thought. It was true that Snape had used the marriage Law as an opportunity, but he loved Hermione and was doing the best he could for her. He was doing her a service- no matter what his magical peers might think.

Humph. Peers. What a joke. As if he actually wanted any of these people as peers! Malfoy _had _invited some worthy individuals but most of the guests here were wizards he despised- dark sympathizers, pureblood supremists, and sycophantic toadies. There was also a number of foreign purebloods here as well. Knowing family connections the way he did, Snape was certain these were all the worst sort.

Since Severus was well known on both sides of the Dark, wizards and witches inevitably came to greet them. Some of these people were the parents of his students or were old cronies from his spy days. Hermione did her best to smile no matter what their reaction was, and tried, however falteringly, to make conversation. Snape knew his wife wouldn't know anyone, but she did seem to be giving it her best. And it was only for a little while as Severus wasn't going to linger. Hermione only had to stay out of trouble while he did some investigating. About an hour later, Snape spotted his first real opportunity.

Waldon McNair and Julian Flint were huddled suspiciously in a corner, two prime targets for questioning. Severus began to move in their direction, pulling Hermione with him, but suddenly he thought better of it. These were truly sinister individuals. They were also exceedingly crude. Snape didn't want to expose his wife to their foul minds or foul tongues, and he knew he'd probably get more out of them if he were alone. One of them also seemed to have a desperate looking wife with him. Snape knew his own kind hearted wife would be moved to interact with her, and he didn't want her to do that. He excused himself and told Hermione to carry on without him. He wouldn't take long.

Hermione kept a smile firmly plastered on her face though her jaws were starting to hurt from it, and she nodded to people in what she hoped was a friendly and engaging manner. Some actually did come over and introduce themselves but most didn't. Hermione tried her best to engage them, but she found it difficult without Severus to pave the way. Still, she kept on trying. It wasn't easy.

No one was trying to make it easy for her either. People looked at her oddly. They quizzed her concerning where she had been born and where she had lived. She was asked over and over if she was related to someone or other Granger from the Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and though at first she had naively supposed it was a natural question, after the fourth or fifth time she knew that it wasn't.

Everyone important enough to be here knew exactly who she was. She was a member of the "golden trio,"after all, and her marriage to Snape had been publicized. These witches and wizards were baiting her, having a private little joke at her expense. Hermione's cheeks flushed. This pettiness hurt, and it made it hard for her to keep up the friendly act that Severus wanted. But she kept that false smile cemented on her face- even when coming face to face with Cornelius Fudge...

Hermione felt so much antipathy for the Minister that she didn't even want to look at him. Her painful smile felt like a gag as she wished the odious man a good evening. Fudge, on his part, barely spoke to her. He gave Hermione the usual pleasantries, but moved quickly away to talk with someone else. The seething Gryffindor knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help resenting the snub.

It was _galling _to be here, galling be paraded about like a prized cow to be judged! There had to be thousands of magical folk in Britain, but the best that could be said for ones here was that they were rich. Even in the Muggle world Hermione had never followed the doings of the rich and the famous, and she saw little to admire in these "wizarding royalty." Most regarded her dubiously, or with frank amusement. Some glanced pointedly at her mid section, surprised at its obvious flatness As a Muggleborn bride, of course, she was supposed to be pregnant. Hermione found it degrading.

Everyone around her was dropping names. Wizards here knew each others' connections, yet they still seemed to feel the need to wave them about like flags in the war over magical pecking order. Hermione had never wanted to play such silly social games, and this verbal dance was only half intelligible to her. It probably always would be. Someone like Lavender Brown would be a natural at this. So, also, would Ginny. Luna would have serenely ignored most of it, but would still have somehow conveyed the idea that she belonged. It was Hermione who would always be an outsider. She was completely out of her element.

Had this been a convention of swots it would have been different, but sadly for Hermione, the people she felt most comfortable with didn't cluster at functions requiring elegant dress or deportment. Still, ever tenacious, she kept on trying, even though her awkward conversation attempts fizzled. Most of the time she was simply ignored. Those who did condescend to speak with her let it be known (ever so gently) that they were, indeed condescending. It was very, very dispiriting.

Severus, naturally, had no problems. He was a pureblood and he had been raised to this. Having left her on her own for a while, she could see him, a tall dark pillar of elegance and refinement, conversing very coolly with some unknown, rather creepy looking, wizards. Hermione knew she shouldn't expect him to stay safely at her elbow the entire night, but she couldn't help but feel abandoned.

"_Oh come on!" _she chided herself._ "Why should this be so hard?"_ She had fought deatheaters! Surely a bunch of ridiculously over-bred snobs shouldn't be a problem! She was a Gryffindor. She was _bold_. She should just put on a bright smile, walk confidently up to people and pretend she was welcome. Then she could look interested and respectful, nod her head a lot, and act as though everything they said was wonderful. That was spy work at its best, wasn't it? Piece of cake.

But she sighed. Who was she kidding? Since when had subtlety been her strong suit? Or cunning for that matter? Or the sort of long suffering patience one absolutely had to have to succeed at conniving? She was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin. If she tried "sleuthing" among these cultured elites she'd just make a fool out of herself. No wonder Severus didn't want her to do it. She felt like a failure.

Then suddenly she noticed someone else who seemed just as lost and uncomfortable as she was- the present Mrs Malfoy. The poor young witch was standing by herself looking lonely and awkward. It appeared she too had been abandoned, not only by her husband, but everyone else as well.

Hermione felt a wave of compassion. This poor girl had it worse than she did. Imagine being snubbed at your own party- and in your own house! How awful was that? She decided to go over and talk to her. They were similar in age and background so they might actually have something to talk about. Besides, the young Mrs. Malfoy was probably the only person here who _wouldn't_ snub her...

"Hi," she said walking up to her companionably. "It's Emma, isn't it?"

The young witch seemed to blossom in front of her.

"Yes! And you are... I'm sorry. I can't seem to remember."

"Hermione. Hermione Gra.. um.. Snape."

"Oh. Yes," she replied brightening with recognition. "You're the one whose still in school."

For some reason Hermione felt a stab of shame. Malfoy's nasty comments had been remembered by his wife. There was a tense moment of mutual awkwardness, but Hermione perceived that Emma was actually embarrassed _for_ her, not ashamed of her. She decided to try again.

"That's a beautiful gown," she ventured encouragingly. "I like the color."

Emma robes, a diaphanous creation of rose pink and white, made her look rather sweet and virginal, but they suited her rather childish face and soft coloring. Hermione thought the poor witch looked more like a schoolgirl than she did (and she really _was _a schoolgirl,) but she knew there were plenty of men that found innocence attractive. The human equivalent of wolves, for example. Malfoy had dressed up his child bride like a sacrificial lamb. It was beyond tragic. It was sick.

Emma actually blushed in response to Hermione's compliment and seemed to warm a little. "Oh thank you. It's the nicest dress I've ever had, even if the Lady picked it out for me. She said it was perfect."

"The Lady?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"One of Lucius' friends. Although I think she might actually work for him. She's always around the estate and she's... well... she's rather bossy. She and Lucius are always discussing business, and she makes my potions. I wish I could make them myself but I never learned how to in school. Lucius says he's going to teach me. I hope he teaches me and not her. She's... scary."

Visions of a black clad Mrs Danvers came into Hermione's mind and she shivered in sympathy.

"Is she here tonight?" she asked, looking around to see who the sinister witch might be.

"No, thankfully," Emma sighed. "She set up the whole party but didn't stay as a guest."

"Hmm," Hermione sniffed dismissively. "She must not be important enough. Try not to let her intimidate you too much. Umm... what potions are you taking?"

"Fertility potions mostly. Lucius is eager to have more children. That's the reason he married me."

Emma's frank answer made her tragic situation all the more poignant. She knew her value in the Wizarding world and, though not exactly happy, had accepted it. Like Hermione, she'd had no choice.

"But what about you?" Hermione pressed. "Do you want children?

"Oh, yes. I've always wanted a nice home and a family. It might be sooner than I had thought, but it would give me something to do, and then... well, then Lucius might actually be happy with me..."

Hermione decided not to press. She had promised Severus she wouldn't snoop, and there were things it was probably better not to know. Instead she asked Emma questions about her Muggle home life.

She learned that the young witch never had much magical training. Unlike the middle class Grangers, Emma's family had been too poor for private tuition and when her Hogwarts letter had come, she had been forced to decline. Instead, she had gone to a part-time magical day school which had taught her only enough for a career as a magical servant. Marrying into the Malfoy family had been like Cinderella marrying Prince Charming. Too bad that Malfoy was anything but charming.

Poor Emma questioned Hermione eagerly about the school she had never been able to attend. It was painfully obvious that she longed for the types of experiences Hermione had had as well as the sort of life she had led. Hermione answered question after question and she wondered if she could get her new-found friend away from the crowd. She was just about to ask her to show her someplace where she could "powder her nose" when she felt an almost suffocating sense of a sinister presence.

"Well, well." said the senior Malfoy from almost right over their shoulders and Emma's face suddenly paled. She looked terrified. She ducked her head a little and smiled timidly up at her husband like a child who didn't know if it would be caressed or slapped. Hermione's heart constricted with pity.

Lucius eyed them both. "Having a nice little.. chat? How _interesting_ that in a house full of guests that the two of you should happen to find each other." He looked significantly at Hermione.

Emma wrung her hands but faced her husband earnestly. "We.. we were just getting to know each other. Hermione and I are the same age. You... um... you wanted me to meet people."

"What I wanted, my dear wife," he hissed coldly, "Was for you to circulate among my guests- ALL of my guests- to be a proper _hostess _and make them _comfortable. _It is, after all, your _duty._"

"Oh, but she was!" Hermione broke in brashly. She couldn't just stand by. "I was all by myself and having a hard time mingling. Emma was trying to make me feel comfortable."

"Really?" The word had a sinister tone. "You were conversing for a full twenty minutes. What could the two of you have found so _interesting_ to talk about?"

"Yes," said Severus just arriving. "I'd like to know that myself."

Snape's intense black eyes could have melted steel. His disapproval could have wilted a rain forest. Hermione hadn't done anything wrong, yet somehow she was now in trouble. Now it was she who twitched with nervousness, and unfortunately, when Hermione was nervous she tended to babble...

"Well, honestly, really, nothing _important._ Like she said, we're the same age. We were talking about school, about Hogwarts, and I was telling her about my classes. I was telling her about the four houses and about Quiddich and Peeves, and Hogsmeade and the sweet shop. And I was just about to ask Emma if she could show me where to freshen up a bit. I'm so lost here and I don't know where the lavatory is. Females always go to the lavatory in groups, you know. It's a girl thing, I suppose..."

Malfoy smirked cruelly. "You do realize that it is the height of bad manners to expect the _mistress _of the house to escort you to the.. a... Ladies facilities, do you not?" He turned to Snape who was looking more murderous than ever. "Really old friend, I thought you had taught her to be _civilized_."

Poor Emma appeared horrified. She literally started to shake as she looked fearfully between her husband and the two Snapes. Hermione had terrible feeling that she had harmed Emma by talking to her. God only knew how Lucius would punish her for it later. And Severus looked like a stern, black thundercloud. She had embarrassing him in front of Lucius, and she didn't want to think of what he was going to say to her when they got home. She had disappointed him.

Hermione wished she could disappear. She didn't want to be here, hadn't wanted to come at all, and was only here because HE had _insisted!_ And what did he expect? He _knew_ she wasn't a socialite! Besides feeling guilty about Emma and embarrassed for Severus, she felt frustrated and more than a little angry. As far as she was concerned they could all just SOD IT! Like a nuclear reactor finally reaching melt-down Hermione wanted to give them both a piece of her mind. They saw her as an uncivilized Muggle _cretin_? Well, she'd throw it right back in their faces...

Schooling her features into a mask of pretend fear, she stared wide eyed at at Emma's cruel, imperious husband and in a mock horrified voice gasped, "Oh no! It IS? Oh dear me, I didn't know! I've said the wrong thing AGAIN! I'm always saying the wrong thing, always putting my foot in my mouth. I've probably managed to offend everybody here! I shouldn't have come. I should have just stayed home!"

Both wizards gave her stony stares and poor Emma now looked confused. But in for a penny. In for a pound. Or galleon. Silly things knuts and galleons. This whole world was silly. Well if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. She wanted to bury them in stinking piles of it.

"I am SO sorry!" she gushed earnestly. "I mean I've READ about Wizarding society. I've read every book I can find, but it's not enough is it? It'll never be enough! All these little things. I just can't cope! But please don't blame _Severus_. It's not his fault. It's mine. My lack of _upbringing_. Bad blood! I was raised by Muggles and what do THEY know? Maybe I should have asked a house elf. Oh, DO forgive me!"

Severus looked gob-smacked- almost the way he had all those years ago when he had rushed into a wrecked girls bathroom to hear a first year telling them she'd been hunting for a troll.

Malfoy too looked stunned. He looked a little confused. (unless he was just considering how to hex her. One never knew with a Malfoy.) Then, suddenly he started laughing and a sea of heads turned to stare. Considering the fact that the man was a cold blooded killer, Hermione found his laughter chilling. Lucius slapped Severus on the back and shook his head in mirth.

"Ah, Severus. You need to bring her here more often! For however long it lasts, at any rate. Such eloquence! Such debasement! Who would have believed she could be so amusing?"

He held out his arm to Emma who took it gratefully not seeming to notice the burlesque quality of the gesture. "Come, my pet. Let's make the rounds again, shall we? There's a few more _important _people who have not yet met you and..." He looked pointedly at Hermione in a condescending way and then snapped his finger. "Mindy!" he called sharply and a cowering female house elf appeared.

"Mindy. Escort young Mrs Snape to the Ladies guest toilets. Wait for her there and then bring her back. It wouldn't do for her to get... lost, now would it?" he smiled toothily as he led his wife away.

Severus rounded on her as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Just what did you think you were doing?" he hissed. "Didn't I tell you not to play detective? Why is it that the first time I turn my back, the first time I leave you alone..."

"I wasn't!" she shot back heatedly, feeling stressed now almost to the point of madness. "I _know _ you don't want to believe me. You never do! But I wasn't. Everyone was snubbing me. I felt awkward, odd, and stupid. Then I saw poor Emma all by herself and she looked even worse than I was so I said hi. _I was being NICE._" She tried to match him glare for glare.

"And what exactly did you talk about?" he asked stonily.

"Not much," she huffed grumpily. "Girl things. We compared dresses. We talked about schools. She told me she's taking fertility potions and that she's intimidated by one of her husband's servants, some manager, retainer, or something, and it was so sad. All I could think of was Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca' or that awful Vincent Price movie where he poisons his wife to marry the governess and..."

Snape was giving her a blank look and she huffed in exasperation.

"Oh why do I bother! Of _course_ wizards don't watch movies! They don't do much of anything, do they? They just sit in their overstuffed Gothic mansions pouring over their family trees-"

"I _have _read 'Rebecca' Hermione."

"Well, you're probably the only one."

"Probably."

"And even YOU haven't seen the movie, which you should because in some ways it's even better-"

"_Hermione..."_

"Missus! We must go_,_ Missus. _Please!_"

Hermione felt an urgent tug on the hem of her dress and looked down. She had forgotten about the elf.

"Mindy has to take Missus to the toilets. Master be watching!" Her homely little face was scared.

She sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, indeed.

Snape motioned dismissively. "Well, go on then. Just don't be long."

Hermione turned and followed little Mindy into the bowels of the Malfoy house. She dearly wished she could give Snape a saucy retort (she _hated_ it when he ordered her around,) or make a grand Hollywood style exit, but she knew better. Dramatic exits were stupid. They weren't real life. Real life was lame and disappointing, which was why people loved Hollywood, and fairy tales, and even spook stories. Until, of course, they had to live in one. Like the Wizarding world.

Like now.

The guest bathroom was toward the back of the Malfoy house and the little elf quickly led Hermione through a series of elegant rooms and picture hung halls. Other guests lounged casually and chatted quietly over long stemmed glasses, but the elf didn't give Hermione any chance to look about or listen. Finally she pulled her into a large brightly lit room decorated in elaborate Roman style tile work.

"Here is witches toilets Missus. Mindy will waits while you goes."

Obligingly, Hermione availed herself. Going to the rest room had only been been a spur of the moment idea for getting Emma away from the crowd, and she had only fired it off at Lucius because she'd been babbling out of her mind. But women can always visit the loo. And besides, it was quiet. Here she might just be able to catch a few minutes of peace before venturing back into that shark pool of a party. The bathroom had multiple stalls (marble and gold with statuary everywhere) and Hermione went into one. No sooner had she done so when laughing female voices sounded at the door.

Well, so much for peace and quiet.

"Did you ever see such a pathetic, whey faced, little _cow?_" It sounded like Pansy Parkinson.

"Little rabbit is more like it," sniffed another voice. "She looked like she was about to die of fright!"

"And her robes! They make her look like Bo Peep. Poor Lucius. He really deserves better."

"Hey Pansy," the second voice continued, this time in a more hushed tone. Hermione recognized her now as Daphne Greengrass. "Do you think Draco has slept with her yet?"

"No, he hasn't Daph. Don't go there."

"But you know the way he-"

"YES I know the way he acts! And I know the things he says! But it's all pretend. He told me so. He's a _boy _ and he sort of has to, but it's all lies. The truth is his father's very possessive of his Muggle tarts and wants to make sure there's no confusion in the bloodline. Draco couldn't get near that little mouse if he tried. Though _WHY _Lucius wants her I've no idea. Here, help me fix this sticking charm. My chest is about to _spill.." _

"Can Mindy help Miss?"

"What? _Ugh! _Get out of here elf! What are you doing lurking about in the witch's loo? Shoo!"

"Mindy has to wait, Miss. Mindy has to escort Missus back to party. Master said."

One of the voices snorted. "Missus? _Escort? _ Oh Merlin, that's funny! Imagine needing an elf to take you to the loo!"

"Like a baby!"

Hermione's cheeks burned. This awful night had just got immeasurably worse.

"Hmm... I wonder who it it is."

"I see green shoes, Pansy. It's _Granger! _The professor's probably afraid she'll do something stupid like wander off and cause trouble so he has to give her a _babysitter._ How pathetic!"

"Maybe she'll get a spanking when he takes her home tonight."

"We can only hope! Come on out, Granger. We both know you're there! No more hidey hidey!"

Hermione suppressed the urge to snarl at the unfairness of life. She emerged from her stall with as much dignity as she could muster, smoothed out her shimmering gown (it felt good to have clothing every bit as nice as theirs) and swept past them, head held high, to wash her hands.

Parkinson and Greengrass looked at her, looked at each other, and then giggled nastily. "Better hurry, Granger, dear. Your elf is waiting! We wouldn't want you to...get lost, now, would we?"

She had had enough. "It's not Granger it's _Snape_. And did it ever occur to you laughing hyenas that since I've never actually been in this house before that I didn't know where the bathroom was? So I did the Muggle thing and I asked someone. So sue me!"

"If you weren't such a jumped up little Mudblood, you'd have been coming here since you were born!"

Heaving another long suffering sigh, Hermione decided to put them straight, and she'd only say it once.

"For your information,_ dears, _I never wanted to be 'jumped up' at all! I don't want your mansions; I don't want your pedigrees; I don't want your servants, your connections, or your snobbishness! I'm a SWOT, understand? I just want to study, make experiments, and maybe have a nice little government research job. Believe me, I don't need you to tell me I don't belong here!"

"Really? Then why ARE you here, Granger?"

"Snape! My name is SNAPE, and you know very well why I'm here! Because some sodding idiot in that _stupid_ Ministry passed that RIDICULOUS, _IMBICILLIC_ Marriage Law!

"Ooh, ooh! Careful Granger, you don't want to let... Severus... hear you talk like that."

"That's _Professor Snape_, to you," she sniped back acidly. "He may be your head of house, but I'M on a first name basis with him, not you. Remember that!" She flashed them a frosty smile before leaving.

"Oh I wouldn't brag if I were you Granger," Pansy's voice virtually dripped with spite. "You know our _professor's_ just using you for sex. You mean nothing to him! Someone like you never could."

"And maybe he'll spank you tonight after all!" was the parting shot, and cruel laughter followed.

Halfway down the hall Hermione had to pause. Ignorant as she was of wizarding etiquette, she'd still be willing to bet that "keeping up appearances" was just as important to magical snobs as it was to Muggle snobs. _I can't let those COWS get to me... _She took a moment to wipe her eyes.

"Missus must hurry," Mindy cautioned urgently.

"Wait a moment Mindy. I... I don't want anyone to see me cry."

The little house elf came up to her and patted her gently. "Missus must not cry. Missus is good kind Missus and will leave here soon. Soon no more cry."

Hermione almost laughed through her tears. She couldn't be sure if little Mindy was trying to get rid of her or actually being kind. She hoped it was kind. The poor elf looked like a good sort.

"Thanks, Mindy," she sniffed. "Just let me take it slow for a few minutes. Umm.. maybe you could tell me about the pictures or something. Are these all Malfoy ancestors?"

"Yes, Missus. But we has got to leave! Master will be waiting."

"That's right young lady!" sniped an aristocratic old witch in a nearby painting."You lack manners!"

"Obviously ill-bred," sniffed another.

"Nasty little upstart! What possessed young Lucius to invite her?"

"I have NO idea..."

"What is the Magical world coming to?"

"Oh, I give up!" Hermione snorted in exasperation. "This whole house is against me!"

All down the corridor paintings on either side shook their heads and made disparaging comments. They critiqued her posture, her hair, and her obvious discomposure. They made comments about her dress.

Hermione's hurried on past them. Now she couldn't wait to get back to that party. At least Severus was there, and even though she was sure he was angry with her, just the thought of him was strangely comforting. The thought of him felt like home to her, and she did her best not to think about what that meant. Maybe he was using her for sex- he certainly enjoyed it often enough- but she knew in her heart it couldn't be just that. Severus cared for her- at least enough to make sure she was safe. That's why he was angry after all. The cruel words of those nasty witches still rang in her head, but they only made her more anxious to get back to him. Severus was her only anchor here

Painted people were urging her on, leaving their frames to crowd one another to get near her. Hostility raged at her from every side. Except in one painting which, strangely enough, was completely still.

Which was odd...

Ignoring the others, Hermione suddenly stopped to take a look at it, and seeing her interest, the other paintings inexplicably hushed. They whispered and muttered but that was about all.

It was a picture of a beautiful woman, a woman at that mysterious age when she appeared almost ageless. She sat carelessly, yet elegantly on the edge of an embroidered divan, her lovely features set in a haughty smile. Platinum blonde hair spilled down her shoulders in an elaborate, silky arrangement. She obviously looked like a Malfoy. But why didn't she move?

An accusing, sneering voice was suddenly at her elbow. It was Draco. "What are you staring at, Granger?"

Hermione fought down yet another sigh. "It's Snape, Draco. My name is Snape."

"Sure."

"I is taking Missus to the toilets and back to the party," Mindy piped up. "Master says so."

Draco looked down at the elf and curled his lip.

"Why doesn't it move?" Hermione asked intrigued.

Malfoy looked a little uncomfortable and she wondered at it. Was he embarrassed? Was the painting faulty in some way? Was he ashamed of it?

"Is it broken?" she asked. Not that she wanted it fixed. This terrifyingly cold and beautiful Malfoy would probably just sneer at her along with the others. Still, Hermione had always been curious.

"No, of course not!" Draco spat. Now he looked _very _uncomfortable. "If you must know, _Mrs. Snape, _it doesn't move because it's...it's... it's Muggle. That's why!"

Hermione stared at him. For a moment she had a hysterical impulse to laugh. _The Malfoys had a MUGGLE picture in their hallowed halls and she had gotten DRACO to admit it? How funny was that? _Yet, unaccountably, the look in the proud boy's eyes made the laughter catch in her throat and stick there. There was something about this painting that really bothered Draco, and her kind nature didn't seem to want to hurt him- though why, she had no idea. He really was a git.

Something in her own eyes must have given her away, though, because the boy reacted with a snarl.

"Well, so what?" he almost shouted. "Do you think wizards don't take things from Muggles, that we don't USE Muggle artists and musicians? The orchestra playing tonight is Muggle! We use them and obliviate them. That's if we let them LIVE!" he added spitefully.

He waved his hand airily at the painting. "So what if my great-great-great aunt had a fling with a Muggle painter? She got a free portrait out of it before she killed him." He looked pointedly at Hermione. "After all, that's what you do with _Muggles._. when you're done with them, that is."

Ignoring the barb, Hermione decided to smile instead of shout at him. Only a few moments ago Pansy had said something about Draco putting on acts, pretending to be tougher, _darker_ than he actually was. So maybe he hadn't raped his father's poor Muggleborn wives, but only felt compelled to say that he had. Perhaps the rest of his cruelty was an act too.. . Or at least some of it. There was no denying he had always been nasty to her. She smiled in his face knowing that the smile would sting him.

"Well, your Muggle artist was certainly talented. He made his subject pretty." Draco looked murderous. "Or maybe he just _captured _ her beauty. Anyway, this is the best painting in your whole house. It doesn't insult me!" Hermione smiled again as waves of fury practically radiated off Draco.

Mindy broke in frantically, pulling Hermione by the hand. "Missus has got to go! Master is waiting!"

Draco scowled but didn't stand in their way. She could feel his angry eyes follow her down the rest of the long hall as magical portraits whispered and shook their heads.

"Took you long enough!" growled Severus as soon as she was back with him.

Hermione bristled. "What, where you timing me? I was in the loo, and I did have a chaperon!"

"Excuse me for my concern, Hermione, but in case you may have forgotten, you aren't exactly in the habit of going where you are supposed to go or staying where you are supposed to be!"

A flash of guilt assailed the young Gryffindor at that, but it only made her more irritable.

"Oh please, Severus. I'm not _stupid! _This is the creepiest place I've ever been to, with some of the creepiest people I've ever seen- no matter how glamorous and beautiful they look! I'm not about to go wandering about. I ran into a couple of nasty girls in the loo, that's all."

Thankfully, her husband appeared somewhat mollified. "Hex anyone?" He asked dryly.

"No! Give me some credit! I told them off, though."

Snape gave a snort. "Hexing would probably have made more of an impression."

She tried unsuccessfully to mask a sudden smirk, but her husband's droll had an odd effect on her temper. "Hmph. I'll remember that for next time. I also ran into Malfoy by the portraits."

Severus looked at her sharply.

"_Draco, _not Lucius."

He visibly relaxed. "Any problems?"

"No, not really." She sighed. "You know I think a lot of his nastiness might really be bluster. I mean, he sort of _has _to be cruel, or at least to look it. Not that I think he's ever going to treat _me_ with any respect, but... well, maybe there's a lot about him I just don't know."

Snape gave her a fleeting look that might have been approval. Just for a moment, anyway. "Glad to hear it. Someday you may discover that very few people are exactly what they seem."

"Maybe," she said slumping a little. "but I'd feel more comfortable if they were. When can we leave?"

"Not long. An hour perhaps. We need to circulate through the crowd and make sure people see nothing amiss with us. Now would be a good time to pretend a 'dutiful wife' demeanor."

She scowled and Severus tipped her chin to to look at her soberly. "Spy work's a bitch, isn't it? Just stay close to me, keep smiling, and we'll be out of her soon. I hate this every bit as much as you do."

They entered the milling crowd again and Hermione smiled and nodded to people that acknowledged Severus far more than they did her. Many of them could have been individuals she had already been introduced to, but at this point she honestly couldn't remember. And that was strange. She could remember anything she had ever read in a book but when it came to people- putting names to faces, exchanging pleasantries, and remembering idle conversations she was sadly inept. Why was that?

She could remember everything (verbatim) a professor said in class- even if it didn't concern the lesson. There had been times she had recalled whole conversations between her friends, remembering little details that had later turned out to be important. She even remembered conversations she had overheard between her enemies! Why was she floundering here? Some sleuth she was...

Severus led her over to a dancing area where garishly dressed witches and wizards were twirling about like kaleidoscope shapes to music that sounded rather like Mozart. Sadly, she knew very little about music either. And was that really a Muggle orchestra? She peered at them curiously, trying to discern anything non magical about them, but her attention was suddenly commandeered by Severus when he bowed, extended his arms to her, and swept her into the dance.

Inexplicably, once on the dance floor, Hermione seemed to calm. She was with Severus, there was no boring conversation or endless bits of archaic etiquette, and here, at least, she knew what she was doing. She thanked God (and her parents too!) for the dance lessons she had had before fourth year.

Ever since she had seen the words, "dress robes" on her school list, Hermione had known there would be a dance, a _formal _dance, and she thought, at the time, that she might get a chance to dance with Ron. She hadn't wanted to screw that up, so she had begged her parents for ballroom dance lessons. Those, added to the mini-lessons professor McGonagall had given them had solved the problem admirably.

Except that she had never once danced with Ron. She had only had a few bright moments as a celebrity squeeze before she and Ron had had a row which had left her crying on the stairs at the end of the Ball. Who would ever have thought that one day she would end up dancing in the arms of Severus Snape at Malfoy Manor? Well, strange things did happen sometimes.

And Severus was an excellent dancer. He moved with confident, effortless grace as though he had been doing this all his life- and perhaps he had. Maybe pureblood wizards spent their lives dancing, making effortless smalltalk, and ordering about their house elves- that is when they weren't hexing each other or supporting dark lords. Hermione wondered just how many witches Severus had danced with to have become so proficient. She didn't want to think about how many he had slept with...

It was strange, but dancing with Severus seemed almost as intimate as having sex with him- though not nearly as pleasurable. Hermione felt herself blushing slightly and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to push the correlation from her mind. Severus was angry with her. She wasn't likely to get sex tonight unless it was a nasty little quickie or something far more sordid.

But Snape didn't do sordid, at least not with her. The only time he had ever taken her roughly was when he had woken up from one of his nightmares, and that had only happened once. Thereafter, he had kept himself rigidly in control at such times- unless, of course, she had insisted on offering him comfort. Whenever he was angry he simply gave her the cold shoulder. He didn't debase her.

Hermione wished she hadn't fallen fowl of his temper. Too many people tonight had made her feel inadequate, not necessarily because of their opinions of her, but for her lack of social finesse. She had been snubbed too many times for her ego- not matter how strong- to not be affected. She wanted some positive, pleasurable attention.

Moving smoothly through the dance, Hermione could feel her husband's body heat through his robes. Her hands could feel his contours. Held so close, she could smell his unique, spicy scent. Snape's face wore his inscrutable "public" expression- a sort of dignified superiority. He even appeared to be smiling. But it was impossible to tell what his feelings really were. He was occluding, something he was extremely good at. Hermione couldn't help thinking that his odd, homely face was actually attractive. She wondered if other witches thought so too. If only she hadn't blown it with him!

Looking back, Hermione supposed she really should have known that talking to Emma would cause trouble. She should have known what Lucius' reaction would be- and Snape's too, for that matter. She had told herself at the time that she was only being friendly, but it _had _been more than that. True, she hadn't wanted to stand alone in a crowd feeling lost and stupid, but deep down she had wanted to learn something. She had been curious. She had been doing exactly what she wasn't supposed to be doing.

She had been spying.

And it had gone belly up- not only for her but for poor Emma as well. She had caused Lucius to be angry with his wife, and he was certain to be far less restrained in showing that displeasure than Severus was with her. Had Hermione really thought she could _help_ the poor witch? How naive could she possibly have been? There was nothing at all she could really do for Emma, and if she had stopped to think, she had always known it. Trying to befriend her had not been an act of mercy.

She should have been cautious. Heck, she USED to be cautious! What had happened? Had years of rule breaking made her overconfident? Had that overconfidence morphed twistedly into arrogance? The bookish little swot she had been at eleven would never have behaved in this way. Or would she?

Hermione remembered how pushy she had been as a young student, waving her hand wildly in every class, showing off constantly, and taking it upon herself to instruct others or inform them of the rules. She had been bossy and headstrong. She was probably STILL bossy and headstrong- except that now she was married to a man she couldn't_ possibly_ boss. No wonder Snape didn't trust her. She had as much spy sense as a brick.

Looking out at the masses of people who wouldn't accept her and who she had failed to connect with, she sighed again and looked wryly at Snape. "You know Severus, you were right when you warned me against spying. I'd be pants at it, and this party is proof. I don't have the personality for subterfuge. I'm impatient, not very subtle, and I can't make small talk to save my life. I'm just a brainy swot, but you know, I'm comfortable being that. You don't have to worry. I'll leave the spying to you."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Truly?"

She sighed again. "Yeah."

"Well, well. Thank God, finally, for that!"

She shook her head at him. "I thought you didn't believe in God."

Lips quirked sardonically. "You do my dear. I'm thanking him _for_ you. In case you somehow forget."

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. She'd never understand him, never in a million years.

Severus watched as Hermione began to let down her hair, frowning absently into the mirror while her fingers fumbled with clasps. She looked rather tired and a little pensive, and she was also still wearing that gorgeous dress. He took a few moments to appreciate her. He'd take that dress off her presently and this uncomfortable day would end on a happier note. For now, he enjoyed merely looking at her.

Something good had to come out of this night because Merlin knew little else had. What he had learned tonight was minimal. The odd wards around the Malfoy house had been taken down and there was hardly a whisper of the strange magic he had detected earlier. Lucius still looked too young and healthy for a man his age, but that in and of itself, was not enough to raise anyone's suspicions. Lots of people looked better than their age- especially if they were magical and very, very wealthy. There was little in that to interest any aurors.

And Malfoy knew it. He had been laughing at them all. While that smug, dark wizard had been entertaining the Minister and his senior Aurors (and all the magical gentry he could pack into his nefarious house,), he had been dangling himself and his poor doomed wife right in their faces. He had been practically flaunting whatever sick scheme he was up to- without them having the slightest clue. Snape had found it frustrating in the extreme.

The only thing he had really learned so far was that only Malfoy seemed to have discovered the secret to prolonged youth. None of his cronies showed even a fraction of his oddly renewed vigor and power or displayed as much as a whiff of his unusual magic. Yet they _had _ noticed something because they were starting to cluster about him.

Just like they had once clustered about the Dark lord.

There was a long, uncomfortable road of spying ahead of him, and he would have to go it alone. Snape had no concrete evidence against Malfoy beyond his own feelings and suspicions. Even the fact that Lucius might be gathering followers wouldn't raise any alarms in the current political climate. The man was popular, handsome, and rich, so of course he would have lots of friends. Severus would have to venture into the darkness again to find out what was really going on. Oh how lovely.

Best to call it a night.

Curl after luscious curl fell as the rest of Hermione's hair escaped from its up-do and she pushed it carelessly away from her face as she removed her magical make-up. It was the sort of moment another sort of woman might have used to her advantage, but Hermione didn't. It probably never occurred to her that she could flirt with her husband or attempt to seduce him, or even that she _should._ Perhaps she truly didn't realize what the sight of her did to him. She seemed to have no idea of her beauty at all.

Hermione's eyes flitted his way for a moment only to direct themselves immediately elsewhere. She seemed a little unsettled, a little self conscious. Severus wondered if she would ever learn to feel comfortable with him.

"So... did you learn anything spying tonight?" she asked casually. The question caught him off guard.

"I thought you weren't going to interest yourself in this." His voice sounded a little more stern than he would have liked.

"I said I wasn't going to spy, Severus, but I didn't say I wasn't still interested." She sighed audibly. "I'm actually just trying to make conversation. You talked to a lot of people tonight and I didn't. I just wondered if anything came of it, that's all."

Snape shrugged. "Nothing of any real significance. I did manage to obtain a few open invitations to the homes of some Malfoy sycophants, but not to worry. I won't be asking you to accompany me."

If he had thought she would be angry or disappointed, he was mistaken. She looked visibly relieved.

"That's good. Tonight was bad enough. Though I suppose tonight wasn't _that_ bad. It's just that I felt so out of place. It's not my fault I came from the Muggle world and don't know any of them..."

"Hey," she brightened suddenly, "did you know the Malfoys actually have a _Muggle _portrait on their wall? Ha! Draco said a great aunt or somebody had an affair with a Muggle, and then posed for a picture before she murdered him. And she kept the picture!"

"Stranger things have happened," he said dryly. He wondered why he had never heard of it.

"True, but it just seemed so funny. I mean, having it up on the wall with all the others instead of burning it, or something, for being inferior. Draco tried to act as if it were all so ordinary, but I could tell he was embarrassed. I suppose I rubbed it in just ever so slightly..."

"You do know that antagonizing a Malfoy isn't the most intelligent course of action," he had to say.

She sighed again. "I know, but it was the only satisfaction I got the entire night."

"Really? Well, the night isn't over, you know. I do believe I promised you a reward."

"A reward?" she sniffed. "What for? You're angry with me. I shot my mouth off, made a fool out of myself, and generally wound up doing my utmost to embarrass you- all without even trying, I might add. Your 'reward' was only for if put on a good act. I failed" Her shoulders slumped.

Severus moved over to her to where she sat and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's true that you didn't comport yourself in the manner I would have liked, but you didn't actually act like a fool. You behaved like a Gryffindor- emotional, headstrong, impulsive, and passionate. You acted _in character_. Had you behaved too perfectly, people would have wondered. As it is, you were exactly as expected."

"Wonderful," she mused with a sarcasm to rival his, "I confirmed to everyone what an idiot I am."

"Not necessarily." He rubbed her shoulders a little. "You did, by the way, say just the right thing to Lucius Malfoy, which diffused a potentially ugly situation and actually disarmed him."

"When I was being flippant?"

"Indeed. He took it at face value."

Hermione looked up at him in the mirror. "You're kidding! Even HE can't be that stupid!"

Severus frowned a little. "No, Lucius Malfoy isn't stupid, Hermione. But he _is _arrogant. Arrogance nearly always leads to _errors. _As it was he thinks you are confused, chastened, somewhat humbled, and intimidated. You aren't, of course, but he thinks you are. You put your pride aside and played a role I KNOW you didn't want to in order to try to protect that poor child from her husband's wrath- More of a Hufflepuff action than a Slytherin really, but I applaud you. "

He leaned down so that his mouth was next to her ear and he tickled the side of her face with his nose. He let his fingers slide over her, creeping closer to places he couldn't touch in public "I think we can safely say that you earned your reward."

The brown eyes reflected in the glass looked startled, but not displeased. The corners of her mouth turned up a little as she leaned back ever so slightly towards him. She was a little hesitant as she turned around to face him, yet not hesitant at all as she allowed him to kiss her. Severus took advantage of that and kissed her deeply, tangling his fingers sensually in her thick, luscious tangle of curls.

Presently, he did, indeed, relieve her of her dress, and presently they did go to bed.

After a long, extremely pleasant interval, Severus lay relaxed and comfortable with his sleeping wife in the crook of his arm. He mused over how easily Hermione always fell asleep. It was partly her innocence, of course. But, then again, he _had _rather tired her out. Snape smirked in the dark. His innocent wife had a prodigious capacity for pleasure. He couldn't help but enjoy exploiting it.

By this time in their marriage Snape had experimented enough with their lovemaking to be confident of success with her. He knew what she liked, what she _really, _liked, and what didn't excite her much at all. Tonight she had actually been rather eager, if in a shy, almost guarded sort of way. He wished she would actually initiate the act occasionally, try to seduce him, but he knew Hermione didn't actually want him. He should take whatever he could get.

And at least she hadn't held back in that terribly irritating way anymore. She had become accustomed to sex, and possibly more comfortable with him. Perhaps in time she would become more aggressive in bed. Gryffindors were supposed to be fierce, passionate lovers- at least that's what he was told. He wondered what it would take to get her to throw herself at him. If there was any chance of that at all.

Tonight, though, she had thought he was angry with her, and it seemed to _bother _her that he might be too angry to have sex with her. Of course that might be just another aspect of her "good student" eager to please personality, but it did occur to him that it might also be a positive sign. She cared what he thought of her. He wondered if she would ever want to please him personally.

The look on her face when she had described her "bad" behavior had been rueful, shamed, even a little bitter. Did she really think so little of herself, or think so little of _him, _that she would believe he would deprive her (and himself) of carnal pleasure just because she wasn't... perfect? Then he thought about how unfair, and downright cruel, he had always been as a teacher and inwardly he cringed.

That was probably how she still saw him. She didn't know that he cared for her. She had no idea that it would take far more than a few simple social gaffes to make him reject her. Hermione didn't realize that he had always intended to reward her no matter _what _she did. He had held out sex as a carrot, but there had never been a stick.

Snape longed to lose himself in loving his wife. He eagerly anticipated the joy of her response. Evidence of her pleasure was like ambrosia to him- a comfort he desperately needed. Tonight he had waded again into the darkness, and a foul taint seemed to cling to him. It was as if an acrid odor of evil lingered upon him like the pong of tobacco smoke that clung to one's clothing. Clothes, however, could easily be cleaned. There was no way Snape knew of to wash one's soul.

Hermione's sweetness seemed almost like a spiritual balm to him, as though making love to someone so innocent (and making her like it) would somehow cancel out some of his sins. If only it would! He wished he could make her love him, make her need him as much as he needed her. But even if he couldn't do that, her time with him wouldn't be empty. He could keep her safe; he could cherish the time he had with her; he could give her pleasure; and one day, of course, he could let her go...

Cuddling Hermione a little closer to him, Severus hoped that day wouldn't be soon. Much as he loved her, he was selfish, and letting go was not the Slytherin way. Perhaps he could convince her to stay with him even if she didn't actually return his feelings. Many marriages had continued for years from the powers of convenience and convention. Snape wondered what he could do to make sure they both stayed together. He was still wondering when he slipped softly into sleep.


End file.
